


i like the way you work it

by taeyomi (buttercream)



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: 90'S, 90's Music, Class Differences, Grunge boys VS preppy kids, Have I already mentioned this story happens in the 90s?, It's only weed I promise, Lots of parents issues, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Skateboarding, Smoking, Summer, This story happens in the 90's, platonic DoWin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 14:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17582948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercream/pseuds/taeyomi
Summary: In the Summer of 1997, Taeyong learns about skateboarding, Kurt Cobain and how to bag it all up.





	i like the way you work it

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there bros! Here we go again. I've been wanting to write something set in the 90's for such a long time!!!! I did a lot of research on slang and events that happened around the late 90's period (I was actually a child and only cared about the Power Rangers) but still, things can be a bit inaccurate, so please just bear with me.
> 
> There's a lot of skateboarding and weed in this, as well as Taeyong being a perfect square. Johnny was actually really patient with him.
> 
> None of the cities mentioned here are real, I tried to come up with them all. If anything rings a bell, it was a coincidence, seriously.
> 
> Thank you to my unnie Bee, who betaed half of this for me (and checked for slang and Beanie Baby accuracy.) Also, Sara, who's got a month old baby and still managed to read this over. Thank you <3
> 
> I made playlists for both Taeyong and Johnny. You'll know when to reach for these.
> 
>  
> 
> [Taeyong's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/zhangchans/playlist/6zhxE0xkMSyBBtpzsa37SP?si=0IqGQsu5Sl2guKURT5nbgg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Johnny's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/zhangchans/playlist/47wjnTs4nsygR268izZ7K1?si=YFF6jHacSASiFkqTwd5pvQ)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you get to enjoy this, bros!
> 
> \- Title from 'No Diggity' by Blackstreet.

The wind blows at the palm trees, making their leaves sway back and forth rather gently. They’re going fast enough that the breeze reaches Taeyong’s face in sharp gushes, forcing him to squint at times. On the driver and passenger seats, Doyoung and Ten have bandanas securing their hair, and Taeyong is starting to regret not wearing one himself.

On the radio, a song Taeyong knows very well plays. It brings back bittersweet memories of staying late in school in order to take advantage of the empty dance studio. This song used to mean something back then. Now it’s just white noise.

As he watches the city pass by in a near blur, Taeyong pushes back the urge to argue against this whole thing yet again. He’ll start to sound like a broken record. He wouldn’t feel all that apologetic, to be entirely honest. 

Before he even gets to open his mouth, Ten speaks.

“God! You’re totally bugging out!” Turning around on his seat, Ten hooks an arm around the headrest and faces Taeyong over it. “No one forced you to come.”

True, both of them were sure to emphasize Taeyong’s irrelevance in their hangout. As they have been doing for the past two weeks. The thing is that Taeyong is the oldest of the bunch, and he sort of feels like he should be looking out for his friends. Especially when they’ve been regularly meeting with a bunch of notorious scrubs. 

Folding his arms over his chest, Taeyong says, “I am not _bugging out_. I told you, I’m--”

Doyoung groans from the driver seat. Taeyong can see him roll his eyes from the rear-view mirror. “Why do you keep acting like we’re heading into a trap? They’re not running for a drug dealer or anything, chill!”

“Fine!” Taeyong huffs, annoyance rushing out of him. “I’ll just keep my mouth shut and watch from afar if they force heroin on you.”

Ten flops back onto his seat and mumbles, “Whatever, Taeyong.”

For a couple of minutes, the only sound heard inside Doyoung’s convertible Jaguar comes from the female voice singing out of the speakers.

 

In all honesty, Taeyong doesn’t know Qian Kun or Dong Sicheng or any of the other boys who constitute their usual crowd. He’s heard of them, obviously. The whole Valley has. 

It was freshman year. There was a TV piece about some kids letting eighty mice loose inside a public school nearby. A teacher fainted and had to be brought to the ER, there were reports of mice shitting all over the food at the cafeteria and a few rodents even sneaked into students’ backpacks and were mistakenly brought home with them. Taeyong distinctly recalls his mother’s horrified face as she thanked the heavens Taeyong and his little brother attended the local Preparatory school instead of that ‘psych yard’. Imagine! Mice running all over! Preposterous.

For weeks, there didn’t seem to be anything as important as The Great Mouse Takeover. Every single student at Taeyong’s school was talking about it; some with reverence, some with outrage and relief the culprits were not amongst them. But most of them talked about the incident as something completely surreal. Neo Prep was so boring that the prospect of mice inhabiting its hallways didn’t sound so bad.

The names of the students responsible for the prank were widely broadcast and used as examples of bad behavior. They were fans of grunge music and played those violent video games, the news report said. There were even rumors of a punk band hiring those dudes as cameos in one of their latest music videos. Taeyong didn’t know what they looked like, never really cared about the whole mice thing. He barely looked at the boys' faces during their TV interviews, a lot more concerned about dance practice and midterms. 

By the time senior year approached, The Great Mouse Takeover had been left behind, but the Rat Boys, as they came to be known all around the Valley, were still seen as a big, fat load of trouble.

Which is why Taeyong nearly dropped dead when Doyoung announced he had befriended Dong Sicheng. 

The Valley is not particularly big, but in three years they’ve never crossed paths with those kinds of people. Or, those kinds of people were never around the sorts of places Taeyong and his friends used to go. Like the arcade at the mall downtown.

“He works there,” Doyoung said. “Sicheng’s not like those stupid kids from our high school, he’s all that and a bag of chips, I’m telling you!”

As Doyoung proceeded to retell how smart and cool Sicheng was, Taeyong was sucker-punched with horror, the distinct feeling of worry making him behave a bit like his own mother. Because how could Doyoung talk about Dong Sicheng like that knowing he was responsible for sending a teacher to the hospital? People were worried about eating rat shit for months onwards and Doyoung was acting like that was somehow _cool_. 

It wasn’t long until Ten was also waxing poetic about the deeper meaning of _taking a stance_ , and freedom of expression? The names Qian Kun and Nakamoto Yuta started to be casually thrown into their conversations and it became clear to Taeyong that his friends were being manipulated. Clearly. It was the only explanation. Both of them were amongst the avid expounders of the Rat Boys as symbols of a lost generation during freshman year. What could have changed?

In order to understand the root of it all (and to weed it out), Taeyong decided to tag along to one of their hangouts. Summer has just begun, and there’s a lot of room for bad choices over the span of three months. Taeyong is not about to hand his best friends over to a gang of delinquents.

 

He’s never been to the skate park near the pier. Taeyong’s walked past it, sure, but he’s never really explored it. It’s always packed with kids skating or hanging with their bikes, a mysterious smell wafting as smoke drifts to the boardwalk on occasion. This afternoon Taeyong follows Ten and Doyoung straight into the park where a couple of boys sit over their skateboards. They look exactly like the gremlins on the fliers the school counselor at Neo Prep, Ms. Kwon, used to hand over. Baggy denim pants, Vans half cabs, and Duffs KCKs, flannel shirts over Toy Machine shirts. The greasy, unkempt hair and cans of beer scattered all around them on the ground.

They look happy to see Ten and Doyoung. The one with the horrible bleach job even dares to hug Ten! 

“We brought our friend to meet you guys,” Doyoung says, vaguely gesturing towards Taeyong. Five pairs of eyes turn to him, and Taeyong feels heavily inclined to step back. “This is Taeyong. Everyone, say hi.”

They do. One by one. The blond one, who happens to be Kun waves, and smiles at Taeyong. He never leaves Ten’s side, Taeyong notices worriedly. The one chugging a beer on the ground looking like he just woke up barely pays Taeyong any mind. He does mumble his name (Jung Jaehyun) after Sicheng elbows him. Sicheng has a nice face, but something about the way he looks at Taeyong suggests he’s not to be fucked with. Yuta is the one sitting on his bike. He wiggles his eyebrows at Taeyong. The dude standing next to Yuta has got chin-length hair and it looks super skeezy. His name is Johnny, it seems. He’s holding a cigarette between his fingers, and it doesn’t look store-bought. Taeyong feels his eyes widening as he recognizes that suspicious smell like something very much illegal.

“Um,” Taeyong says, eyes never leaving the blunt. “Ten. A word, please?”

He knows Ten is going to protest or question the need of having his ass hauled out for a private chat right in front of their new friends, so Taeyong grabs his hand and pulls him aside.

“Ouch, watch it!”

“Ten,” Taeyong whispers, keeping an eye out for any possible eavesdroppers. “Those dudes are smoking weed, Ten.”

Completely unfazed, Ten rolls his eyes. “Yeah. And?”

Taeyong’s jaw drops. “And…! If the police roll in…!”

“If the police rolls in we’re all busted!” Ten says, chin sticking out. “I knew you were going to be like this, but please can you not go postal right now?”

Taeyong blinks at his friend for a few seconds, unable to fully process everything. “Go. Postal? Did you really just say that to me?”

Ten groans, quickly looking over to the group before facing Taeyong again. “What do you want, Taeyong?”

“I want the three of us to leave this place. Right now.”

Folding his arms on his chest, Ten shifts on his feet. “What you gonna do if we don’t? As if.” He rolls his eyes. “Look, Taeyong, you’re welcome to go back on your own. Or you could quit being such a buzzkill and _stop_ acting like our parents are gonna pop out at any minute! It’s summer! We just graduated high school! Live a little, will you?”

Without giving Taeyong a chance to retort, Ten walks away, back to the group drinking alcohol and smoking illegal cigarettes.

Taeyong is not a buzzkill, he’s all about living. He _lives_. He’s just not sure this way of living -- fraternizing with dudes who let small rodents loose where people eat -- is the way they’re supposed to be living. Ten’s mother made Taeyong promise he’d keep an eye on him all summer, fully aware of her son’s willingness to find himself in dire situations. Once Ten climbed a tree in order to save a stray cat and went missing for six hours until someone heard him yelling from the top of the tree and called the firemen. He was nine.

Now Doyoung… Doyoung is smart. He’s bright and promising and respectful. Doyoung is every mother’s dream child. The fact that he’s now sitting in a skate park getting blazed with the Rat Boys will never stop bugging Taeyong.

Slowly, Taeyong approaches them. He hovers, standing a bit to the side, arms crossed over his chest as if trying to be shielded from whatever influence these dudes might try to cast on him. He watches as Kun guffaws, throwing his head back at something Yuta said. 

“Hey.”

The call comes from his right side, and it catches Taeyong by surprise. He looks down at Johnny, sitting on his skateboard in all his greasy-hairy glory. That cigarette is still in his hands, and it’s this very thing he shakes in Taeyong’s direction.

“Want a hit?” Johnny asks.

Taeyong’s instinct is to curse at him. 

“No,” he says curtly.

Johnny nods, taking a long drag. He keeps his eyes on Taeyong while at it, holding the smoke in for a few beats, then letting it out. “Okay. Want a beer?”

“No, thanks.” 

Another nod. “I can get you a soda if you want.”

“I’m fine.”

Taeyong’s tone probably conveys finality. Johnny shrugs and keeps smoking his deal. It’s slightly smaller than it was when Taeyong arrived.

“So. How do you know Doyoung and Tennie?” Johnny asks.

For some reason, the way he uses a nickname to refer to Ten bothers Taeyong. “Doyoung, _Tennie_ , and I grew up together.”

“Ah,” Johnny perks up. “You went to Neo Prep as well?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet.”

“Can you please stop blowing smoke at my face?”

Johnny's eyebrows arch, and the corners of his lip quirk almost imperceptibly. He says, “I think I was here first, wasn’t I?”

This stoner skater dude has got to be joking. Heat fills Taeyong's cheeks and he's positive his face is red with annoyance. Johnny merely _laughs_.

“My bad, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, but Taeyong doesn’t think it sounds that much sincere. Handing the cigarette off to Jaehyun, Johnny lightly flips his greasy hair. “You don’t seem to like being here, Taeyong.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” There's no point in lying to him. Taeyong is not trying to give these guys a good impression or to make them think he wants to be part of their crew. He's here for Ten and Doyoung.

“Why are you, then?”

Silence. Johnny holds Taeyong's gaze, almost challenging. Taeyong doesn't budge.

“Oh, you’re looking out for your friends,” Johnny says when Taeyong doesn't offer him an answer. “That’s pretty sweet, Taeyong.”

Taeyong decides he hates the way Johnny says his name.

“It must have been freaking you out, having them hang out with the Rat Boys.”

It takes him back the fact that Johnny refers to him and his friends as the Rat Boys. Everyone else does, but for some reason, Taeyong wasn’t expecting them to use it as well.

“You don’t have to worry so much. We’re not gonna shit all over their food.”

Johnny receives the blunt Jaehyun gives back and takes a drag, squinting at Taeyong. There's a defiant air about him like his every action is meant to piss people off.

Instead of blowing smoke right at Taeyong's face, Johnny turns around, letting it out in another direction.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says. It's supposed to sound spiteful and bitchy, but Johnny smiles. 

“You're welcome, Taeyong.”

Taeyong absolutely despises the way Johnny says his name.

 

\--

 

It’s two in the afternoon on a Friday and Taeyong is starting to entertain the idea of watching Dance Party video tapes when Doyoung pages him. Taeyong tries calling him back on his mobile phone, but Doyoung never picks up, as usual. Taeyong doesn’t understand why Doyoung even has that thing (and a Nokia, too!) if he’s going to keep it in the bottom of a drawer. 

When Taeyong calls his landline, Doyoung’s maid, Gina, says Doyoung is busy in the pool house, so Taeyong just decides to head over there. He spent all day watching his younger brother Mark play with his Game Boy, so it’s not like he’s got much on his plate.

He expects to find Doyoung napping or working on a 5000 piece puzzle in the pool house. What he finds, however, is something he definitely was _not_ expecting -- a total wrong move on his part, to be honest. Taeyong should have been prepared for that.

Doyoung, Ten and the freaking _Rat Boys_ are having a get-together. The whole house is permeated by the smell Taeyong now knows to associate with weed. There’s a collective cheer once Taeyong comes in despite how badly he’s scowling at the whole scene.

“Doyoung?” Taeyong inquires, eyes roaming all over the mess in the center of their circle, all the empty beer cans, ashtrays, and chip bags. Doyoung’s dog, Mochi, is napping right next to bleach job guy -- Kun, his name is Kun -- and the prospect of Mochi getting high from all that smoke horrifies Taeyong.

“Hey, Taeyong!” Doyoung greets. Ten comes at Taeyong from God knows where and throws both arms around Taeyong’s neck, pressing wet kisses to his cheek. He reeks of alcohol. “You made it!”

“What--” Taeyong manhandles Ten away from him and cups his friends’ cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine, he’s fly!” Someone feels the need to point out, and everybody else laughs. Taeyong frowns at the person; Jaehyun, it seems.

“I’m fine,” Ten says, stepping away from Taeyong and flopping back on top of Kun. Right on top of him. On his lap. Kun makes an ‘oof’ sound, but circles his arms around Ten’s waist. What the actual fuck is going down?

“Doyoung,” turning towards his other friend, Taeyong says. “Where are your parents?”

“Oh, they flew to KYC for the weekend! It’s just me and Gina!” To Taeyong’s absolute horror, Doyoung accepts the blunt some guy -- is that Yuta? Taeyong doesn’t really remember his name -- offers and _takes a drag_.

“Oh hell no.” Taking the cigarette away from Doyoung, Taeyong stomps towards the dude he assumes is Yuta and thrusts the blunt back into his hand.

“Hey, I was smoking that!” Doyoung protests, but Taeyong ignores him. His attention is all on Yuta, the perpetrator.

“Do not give him that,” Taeyong makes sure to use the same voice he uses to scold Mark.

Yuta all but chuckles. “I don’t think you get to decide what sort of stuff he smokes.”

All of a sudden, anger bubbles its way up Taeyong’s insides, threatens to burst out of his mouth. It makes his jaw clench.

Yuta frowns. “Wow. You gotta chill, dog.”

“Don’t fucking call me dog,” Taeyong spits, turning around to glare at the others. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, smoking this crap in Doyoung’s house?”

“Taeyong,” Ten whines. “Don’t freak out, please. You’re killing everyone’s buzz.”

“He said his parents would be away,” Jaehyun says as if that piece of information would change anything.

“We’re not doing much, just some heady nuggets,” Kun says. “We’ll clean before we head out.”

That’s not the problem. Taeyong doesn’t mind if they trash the house, it’s just… They’re… They’re not supposed to be hanging out with these dudes, Doyoung and Ten. That’s not how they spend summer. It’s usually the three of them chilling by the pool, coming up with dance routines, getting jiggy at the country club, driving out to the mountains with Ten’s cousin. Summer means spending every day together, and this might be their last chance. They’re all going to different universities, when’s the next time they’ll get the chance to have fun like that? 

Besides, this stuff -- smoking weed, drinking cheap, lukewarm beer and talking like they’re straight out of a Beavis and Butthead episode -- is not how they operate. It’s not what their parents taught them, it’s not how they’ve been acting their whole lives. What would Taeyong’s father say if he caught wind of Taeyong standing in a room surrounded by weed smoke? What would Doyoung’s mom do if she knew he’s hanging out with delinquents?

At least two of the activities in which they’re engaging right now are illegal. The three of them have never partaken in illegal activities growing up, there was no need for it, it would only get them in trouble. Of course, kids smoked weed in Neo Prep. There was word of a group of students selling test answers. Everyone knew about the girls smuggling juice boxes from the cafeteria kitchen. They’ve had many opportunities to be mischievous in school. Yet, above any curiosity they might have felt, there was a sense of duty, of doing what was right. 

As he watches Doyoung take the blunt back from Yuta, Taeyong feels that all that has come crumbling down at some point and he missed the moment it happened.

“Hey.”

Taeyong looks up, coming face to face with Johnny. The tense atmosphere has dissipated, and everyone is back to their own shenanigans.

“Taeyong, right?” Johnny asks.

Taeyong takes a deep breath, lifting his chin. “Yes.”

“Sweet. I’m going to take care of those cans. Can you help me get a trash bag?”

Taeyong blinks. Does Johnny want to clean? Is it because of Taeyong’s outburst? That’s not the sort of reaction he wanted. He was hoping they would all haul their asses out of Doyoung’s house and never return. But… He guesses this works. For now.

“I’ll ask Gina,” he says.

“I’ll come with.” Johnny follows him out of the pool house.

Like last time, Johnny is wearing some baggy pants and an equally baggy flannel shirt. His hair is still greasy (doesn’t he shower?) and the smell of marijuana accompanies him wherever he goes. He’s the epitome of skeezy.

Gina is cleaning the kitchen counters when they come in. She greets Taeyong with a huge, warm smile.

“Did you find Doyoung?” Gina asks, smile wavering a bit when her eyes land on Johnny.

“Yeah, yeah. We need some trash bags, Gina, can you get us some?”

“Of course!” She hurries to a cabinet, pulling a couple bags out. Gina hands them over to Taeyong, eyes Johnny carefully. “Open up the windows when you leave. I don’t want the madam to come home to her pool house smelling like a thrift shop.”

Ah. So Gina disapproves of Doyoung’s latest companions. And by the looks of it, she’s had to deal with them before. Taeyong squints at Johnny, who offers Gina a smile as warm as the one she gave Taeyong when they came in.

“Yes, ma’am, we’ll take care of it. Thank you for the bags.”

Gina hums, going back to wiping the counter. Johnny and Taeyong make their way out. Taeyong wonders how many times they brought their “heady nuggets” here, leaving Gina and the other maids to deal with the aftermath of their little soirée.

“Taeyong,” Johnny halts. Taeyong stops walking and turns around to face him. “Can I ask you something?”

Taeyong frowns. He’s not sure about doing anything that Johnny asks him, honestly.

“I know you don’t really like us,” Johnny says. “And I get it. We don’t have the best rep.”

He’s not wrong about that. Taeyong still blushes, though, looking down to the trash bags he twirls in his hands. It’s silly. Why is he blushing? Taeyong’s been nothing but clear about his distaste for Johnny and his buddies. He was trying to make himself clear. Wasn’t he? 

Johnny continues, “But I’m still gonna ask you to give us a chance. Not for my sake, but for Kun. He really likes Ten, you know. And I have an inkling that Ten likes him back.”

Taeyong looks up from the trash bags, blinks at Johnny. Yeah, he could tell Ten held some sort of… Fascination with Kun. Which is totally characteristic of Ten, who falls in love with at least five different people every month. Taeyong didn’t even worry much about Ten and Kun’s hypothetical relationship because he trusted Ten to quickly lose interest. The way Johnny is talking, though... 

“We’re not as bad as we look,” Johnny keeps talking. “I know you’re just trying to look out for them, I get that. Which is why I’m asking you to give them, us, the benefit of the doubt? You don’t have to like us, just… Do not rule us out as bad guys.”

So Johnny is telling Taeyong to stop being an ass to his friends. Politely. 

Taeyong’s parents have always said that weed is a gateway drug, therefore they should steer away from it. He doesn’t see its consumption as something young people should enjoy.

He says, “It’s hard for me not to rule you out as bad guys when you’re doing drugs in my friend’s backyard. That screams bad influence to me.”

Johnny squints, “What if we stop smoking when you’re around?”

“What guarantees that you’re not going to give them any when I’m not around?”

“That’s beyond you and me, Taeyong. Doyoung and Ten can make their own decisions.”

Taeyong would beg to differ. Especially in what concerns Ten. He’s always been impulsive and really prone to regret decisions made in the heat of the moment. More than once Doyoung and Taeyong have prevented Ten from doing some really weird stuff that he’d certainly regret later.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Well, that’s your choice not to trust them. But I’m here telling you that you don’t have to worry about us. We’re never gonna place them in a dangerous situation.”

Taeyong snorts, “Says the guy who let eighty mice loose in a school.”

Rolling his eyes, Johnny heaves a sigh. He runs his fingers through his greasy hair, which causes the strands to stick up in an odd manner. “That was hardly a dangerous situation,” Johnny argues.

“People ate feces,” Taeyong reminds him.

Johnny points an accusatory finger at him, which Taeyong slaps down. Retracting the finger, Johnny says, “It was never proven. And _ouch_.”

“Don’t point your finger at me,” Taeyong admonishes, folding his arms over his chest. “What about the rats who hid inside students’ backpacks and could have bitten them?”

Johnny downcasts his eyes, quickly lifting them to meet Taeyong’s. He seems to have been caught. Taeyong smirks triumphantly as Johnny clears his throat.

“Okay, there might have been some setbacks,” he says, scratches the back of his head. “But you’re missing the point. I’m trying to tell you that we would never pose any sort of danger to your friends.”

“And I’m finding it really hard to believe.”

They just stare at each other for a couple beats; Taeyong rebutting his case, Johnny at loss for any more arguments.

Eventually, Johnny chuckles. “You’re a real piece of work, Taeyong.”

Lifting his chin, Taeyong says, “My mom says I’m tenacious.”

There’s a moment in which Johnny’s eyes soften, and his smile grows wider. “Why don’t you spend some time with us?” He suggests. “So you can make up your own mind.”

Taeyong wants to retort about already having his mind all made up, but that wouldn’t be a hundred percent truthful. He has spent a grand total of twenty minutes in the presence of these guys, all in which he remained completely closed to any type of interactions. All he knows about Johnny and his friends is that they’re the Rat Boys and that they’re up to absolutely no good at all. Besides smoking entire cigarettes of marijuana (“Gateway drug, Taeyong!!!! Don’t forget!!!!”).

What could even go wrong? Taeyong is not going to start smoking weed, he’s got principles. He’s not about to let himself be talked into robbing a bank or anything. All he got to do is be around. Being around also means keeping an eye on Ten and Doyoung.

Prompted by Taeyong’s silence, Johnny smirks and says, “What? Think you can’t handle our pace?”

Blood rushes to his face all of a sudden. It’s clearly a challenge, Taeyong is being challenged by this rat boy. This… Pothead, greasy-haired, lanky, skeezy-looking dude. 

Feeling his chest fill with pride, Taeyong says, “Fine. But only because I gotta look out for my friends. Not because of _you_. Don’t think for a second that I’m doing this because you asked.”

If Johnny is able to see past Taeyong’s speech, he doesn’t let it show. What he does is look extremely pleased and nod, one of his extra greasy hair strands falling back down. 

“Word.”

 

\--

 

If anyone had told Taeyong he’d be spending a summer afternoon at the skatepark by the pier watching his two best friends take skateboard lessons from dudes who are evidently high, Taeyong would tell them to stop lying. 

But here he is. At the skatepark by the pier watching his best friends repeatedly fall off skateboards.

Taeyong’s been trying to exercise the deal he made with Johnny the other day. Yesterday, he followed Ten and Doyoung to the Arcade where Sicheng works. Today they’re at the park. And, surprisingly, they’re not smoking. Since some of them are so clearly blazed (like Jaehyun and Sicheng), Taeyong guesses they took their hit beforehand. Could that be considered pre-gaming? Or is that only for drinking? Whatever.

The absence of weed was not part of the deal, though. Johnny suggested not smoking in Taeyong’s presence, but they didn’t actually shake hands on it. In fact, they didn’t shake hands on anything at all. Taeyong is not tagging along because Johnny asked him; he’s coming for Ten and Doyoung! 

When Doyoung flops down next to Taeyong, he asks, “Why are they not smoking?”

Doyoung shrugs, “Taeil, the guy who supplies them is out of town.”

Ah. That makes a lot more sense.

“Johnny said something about not smoking in front of you, though.” Doyoung continues, turning to face Taeyong. “Probably because they fear you’re going to call the cops on them.”

That’s unlikely, but they wouldn’t know that. With the way he’s been acting, Taeyong isn’t surprised they thought he’d snitch. He wouldn’t. Especially now that Doyoung and Ten are involved.

No, that’s not it. Johnny is trying to make good on his word.

They never agreed on it, but the cigarettes bother Taeyong. They’re (or Johnny is) trying to make it easier for Taeyong to like them. Which is weird. Taeyong is an outsider to these people, they could have just kicked him out and given him a scare. They’re actually trying instead. 

Johnny stands not much farther from Taeyong, sharing a bottle of water with Yuta. Taeyong stands up and walks in their direction.

Yuta spots him first, elbowing Johnny’s rib and nodding at Taeyong.

“Hey,” Taeyong says once Johnny’s attention is on him. “Did you tell your friends not to smoke in front of me?”

Yuta hands Johnny the bottle and skates away, uninterested.

Johnny takes a huge gulp, throat bobbing as he swallows. “That was our deal, wasn’t it?”

“There was no deal,” Taeyong says resolutely.

Johnny hums, winking in a conspiratorial manner. “Yeah, no deal. Sure.” 

Offering him a humourless chuckle, Taeyong says, “Stop trying to be cheeky. I never asked you to do anything like that.”

“I know,” Johnny says. “But I also want you to like us.”

See, Taeyong knew that. He also can’t understand the reasoning.

“Why? Why do you care?”

It takes Johnny a second to respond. When he does, it’s with a step taken towards Taeyong and eyes level with his. “Because, Taeyong, I’m sick and tired of people labeling us as delinquents. Yeah, we drink alcohol, we smoke weed, we listen to Metallica. But some of us are also going to school this Fall. Some of us have full scholarships to an engineering program. Some of us work two jobs. 

“I want you to change your mind about us. You’re important to Ten and Doyoung, and they’re important to us. So, what you think about us matters.”

Taeyong blinks at Johnny, eyes falling on a pimple that’s breaking out on his chin. That’s good reasoning, he reckons. For a while, there’s silence between them. The voices of Johnny’s and Taeyong’s friends and the sounds of their skateboards meeting the ground fill the spaces in the air.

“Are you going to school in the Fall?” Taeyong asks quietly.

“Yeah. Not on a full scholarship, though, I’m not that bright. That’s Yuta.”

What? Yuta’s going to college on a scholarship? Taeyong catches sight of him trying an ollie and gapes. 

Johnny chuckles, definitely able to notice Taeyong’s surprise. “Yuta’s the one behind The Great Mouse Takeover,” he says. “He knew about this really shitty lab with lax security protocols, so we broke in one day and got the mice out. He was already pissed because the school was using small animals like frogs for science classes, so we thought it was a nice opportunity for a lesson. We were fifteen and stupid.”

Taeyong gasps, “And that wasn’t dangerous?! You could have ended up in prison!”

“We knew it was safe. The lab itself was operating illegally, so they wouldn’t report the animals going missing. When the police asked, we just told them we got the rats from an animal fair or something. They didn’t think it was anything other than a high school prank, so. We were good.”

That’s definitely a twist on what Taeyong knew about the whole incident. He wonders if his parents are aware of that. If they’d still advise Taeyong and Mark away from people like Johnny if they knew.

Still, Taeyong says, “Y’all are completely bunk.”

Johnny just smiles, taking another sip of his water. His hair doesn’t look that greasy today, there’s even some movement to the strands. Huh. Somehow, Taeyong finds _that_ twist a little more surprising.

 

\--

 

Sicheng, Taeyong learns, works two jobs. In the afternoons and evenings, he’s at the Arcade. Three times a week, in the mornings, he’s a waiter at this really small café, which is where Taeyong finds himself right now. 

Doyoung is currently at the counter laughing at something seemingly hilarious said by Sicheng, empty coffee cup in hand. Taeyong squints at him, cursing himself for being overzealous to the point that he’d wake up at the asscrack of dawn (it was eight, actually, but whatever) to accompany Doyoung to yet another hang out with the Rat Boys.

Ever since Johnny exposed all the facts surrounding The Great Mouse Takeover, Taeyong’s been a bit icky about calling them Rat Boys. Obviously, their good reasons do not erase everything that went down with their rat business. A teacher was still sent to the ER. However, it wasn’t all mischief, and that shifts things around in Taeyong’s head. For instance, he can’t look at Yuta without thinking that he’s some kind of underrated genius.

Still, Taeyong would rather be at home doing whatever. He could have take advantage of the fact that his father is at work and tried to do a routine in the privacy of his bedroom. No one would notice if he kept the music really low, right?

The door chime announces a new customer, and Taeyong turns around in his seat to watch Johnny make his way into the café.

Taeyong is the only one in the shop excluding Doyoung (who’s too preoccupied with Sicheng to even look around), so naturally, Johnny takes a seat at Taeyong’s table.

“Hi,” he says, eyes bloodshot and a dopey smile on his face. It takes Taeyong two seconds to connect the dots.

“You’re high, aren’t you?”

Johnny giggles, shoulders hunching. “Yeah,” his brow creases in uncertainty, “Is it okay?”

Taeyong shrugs, “I don’t care.” Even if he did care, what could he possibly do about it? Berate Johnny for smoking? As if.

Johnny stares at Taeyong, unwavering eyes, kind of unsettling. “Thanks, Taeyong.”

It’s like there’s a whole essay on Princess Diana’s call for a ban on landmines right there on Taeyong’s forehead. Johnny’s eyes roam all over his face with rapt interest, flickering from Taeyong’s eyes to his mouth area. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Taeyong touches his own face searching for a dirty spot or a fleck of dust. 

Johnny shakes his head, giggles again. “I’m sorry.”

Weird. Taeyong observes as he pokes a napkin holder, frowning at it as if the thing is personally offensive. He’s positive that he saw Johnny smoke weed before, but did he ever get this wasted? Probably, but not in Taeyong’s presence.

“Have you seen Jaehyun?”

Taeyong says, “Nope, he hasn’t shown up.”

“Okay.”

Johnny’s gaze lifts from the napkin holder and settles on Taeyong. 

He just stares for a couple seconds. At the counter, Doyoung and Sicheng guffaw, engrossed in their conversation. Sicheng offers Doyoung a refill for the empty cup he’s been holding for quite some time.

The weight of Johnny’s stare is distressing. It’s steady and fluctuating at the same time, as if Johnny knows he’s staring at Taeyong (and positively making him uncomfortable), but he can’t really figure out why. Taeyong can’t figure it out either.

He asks, “Why do you keep staring at me?”

“I’m so sorry,” Johnny blinks, trying to get focused. “You have… You have a really nice face. Really… Symmetrical.”

Taeyong blushes furiously. There’s absolutely no way to hide because Johnny is sitting too close and won’t look away. He scratches his cheek, aware of the tingling sensation on his face.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, because he has no idea of what else to say.

“You’re welcome, Taeyong,” Johnny says cordially. 

Taeyong huffs, “You keep saying my name.” _It’s annoying._

“I like your name. Taeyong,” Johnny muses. “It’s pretty. Like you.”

If Taeyong’s face wasn’t already burning, it would have suddenly caught fire. Johnny is smiling at him as if he’s just made an innocent comment on the weather instead of Taeyong’s appearance. To his face. Sure, other people have called Taeyong pretty. He’s unsure as to why, but none of those times were nearly as disconcerting as this one. Maybe it’s the way Johnny keeps looking at him, smiling in a dazed way. 

He looks good, Taeyong realizes. He’s got zero clue where this sudden thought comes from (the depths of hell, maybe), and the more Taeyong looks at him, more he comes to terms with the fact that Johnny… Actually looks good. Even stoned out of his mind like he so clearly is right now, he looks good. It’s the first time Taeyong even considers it, but Johnny is good-looking.

Huh.

They’re just staring at each other when Sicheng comes over, effectively breaking the spell by placing a drink in front of Johnny. Taeyong doesn’t remember Johnny ordering anything.

“Thanks, homie,” Johnny says, that same sluggish quality to his voice.

“Aye,” Sicheng mumbles, going back to the counter.

“Hey, Taeyong.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know about… About Nirvana?”

Kurt Cobain. Drugs and flannel shirts. Yeah, Taeyong knows about Nirvana. They were mentioned during that neighborhood seminar his parents made him watch about the 23 things the youth should avoid. 

“Yes.”

“They’ve this really nice song that goes like… _I’m so happy ‘cause today I found my friends…_ You know it?” Johnny throws his head back, giving Taeyong a wide view of his neck. 

Taeyong swallows, blinking rapidly as Johnny’s head sways. “No.”

“You should check it out,” He leans towards Taeyong, conspiratorial. “Want me to make you a tape? I can throw in Nirvana plus some other stuff. You should make me one too.”

That’s… A really strange request. Frowning, Taeyong asks, “Why?”

Johnny turns to the ceiling. “I want to know what kind of stuff you listen to. Music is important. Your music says a lot about you,” He looks back down at Taeyong. “My Pa says that. He’s a musician.”

Taeyong is almost certain Johnny won’t dig half of the songs he’d put in a mix. They just seem to enjoy different types of music, even though Taeyong likes to think about his musical taste as very eclectic. 

He’ll compromise, though. Only because this whole conversation has a surreal undertone, and he’s half expecting to wake up in the comfort of his bed in zero point five seconds. “Okay. I’ll make you a tape.”

“Sweet,” Johnny smiles, eyes falling closed as he proceeds to hum to another tune Taeyong briefly recalls having heard during the neighborhood youth seminar.

 

\--

 

The smell of homemade bread envelops Taeyong like a loving parent, ready to provide him with affection and attention. His mouth waters as he pulls the tape from the recorder, happy to have finally finished the entire thing. There are several other tapes and cases scattered all around him on the living room floor and he should probably clean it up -- his mom doesn’t like when he leaves ‘trash lying around uselessly’ --, but his stomach growls, so he throws the mixtape in its case and stands up.

Pocketing the tape, Taeyong walks into the kitchen. Haeun, a middle-aged woman who’s been working as their housekeeper every since Taeyong was in diapers, waves him over impatiently like she does all things, wildly gesturing for him to sit by the counter. 

Taeyong takes a seat next to Mark, who’s writing something on a notebook, his Gameboy resting beside it. A look at the clock on the wall says it’s half past three in the afternoon. Taeyong knows for a fact that his mother is probably at the club playing whatever is the latest trendy sport with her friends.

Still, he asks, “Is mom at the club?”

Mark merely hums in response, scratching his cheek with the end of his pencil. 

Taeyong peeks at his notebook. “What are you writing?”

“Stuff about this game in case I have to restart it. Tips, you know.” He then looks up at Taeyong. “What were you doing with the recorder?”

“A mixtape.” Haeun brings over a plate filled with slices of warm, fresh bread. Taeyong wastes no time and slathers butter on a slice before eating it. He moans happily, shoulders sagging as Mark takes some for himself.

“Oh. With new songs? Can you make me a copy?” 

Taeyong shakes his head, “Just my favorites. Not much different from the one I gave you last week.”

“Chenle borrowed it and never gave back,” Mark says around a mouthful of bread. “I only have the old ones.”

“Fine, I can make you a copy,” Taeyong sighs. “But don’t let your friends take it.”

“Got it.” There’s bread crumbs all over Mark’s face. Taeyong reaches out to wipe it off, causing his brother to grimace and wiggle away. “Stop!”

“What can I do when you eat like a baby?!”

Haeun issues a warning, “Boys,” from the other side of the kitchen, ending all protests at once.

“I’m going over to Jeno’s place later,” Mark informs.

“Does mom know?”

“No, you could tell her about it,” Mark glances at him surreptitiously. “Page her before she comes home.”

Snorting, Taeyong says, “As if. You do it yourself, home skillet.”

The pencil in Mark’s hand drops to the counter and he turns indignantly to stare at Taeyong. “You know she won’t let me if I ask!”

“And what makes you think she’d react differently if I asked?”

“Because she would! She acts like I’m nine years old, I’m sick of it!” Mark whines. “Come on, Taeyong, we’re almost through with Donkey Kong III, Jisung is gonna bring Bomberman! I can’t miss it!”

Jeno lives a bit far from their house, Taeyong’s mom doesn’t like Mark biking there by himself. The way Taeyong sees it, there are only two paths ahead of him. He can either drive Mark there himself and pick him up later at night, or he can have his thirteen-year-old brother give him a weeks-long cold shoulder. The last time Taeyong had to give Mark two of his favorite Beanie Babies in exchange for forgiveness. He does _not_ want to give Claude the Crab up.

Heaving the longest sigh ever, Taeyong says, “I’ll drive you there.”

Grinning, Mark asks, “You’ll also page her, won’t you?”

Taeyong massages his temple. “Yes, Mark. I’ll page her.”

“Thanks, Taeyong, you’re the best!” Mark gathers all his stuff from the counter and hops off the stool, rapidly going over all the gaming magazines he’s taking to Jeno’s house as he walks out.

Snorting fondly at his brother, Taeyong turns his attention back to the plate of bread, reaching for another slice. 

Haeun quietly makes her way over to the counter. “Taeyongie,” she calls, forehead creasing. “Is Jeno the one whose mother is single?”

One of the main reasons why Taeyong’s mother says she doesn’t like Mark biking to Jeno’s house is to restrict his visits. She pins it on safety and how the number of kidnappings around the Valley has gone up, but Taeyong knows the truth. He’s watched disgust in her face while she talked about how Jeno’s mother’s been raising him and his two younger sisters by herself. Taeyong has heard his mother and her friends gossip about the much younger girl Jeno’s father’s been dating recently, how she saw them at the mall, how Jeno’s mother looks like she could use a chiropractor.

It doesn’t sit well with Taeyong. Jeno is smart and hardworking and such a nice kid. It shouldn’t matter if his mom has a club membership or not.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, looking at Haeun.

She smiles, nodding. “I like that boy. His mom makes great jam, he brought some over the last time he came.” Haeun walks to the fridge and opens it, pulling out a large, half-empty jar. “The madam asked me to put it on the shopping list just yesterday.” Haeun laughs rather delightfully, returning the jar to the fridge and closing it.

Of course, Haeun would be privy to Taeyong’s mother’s thoughts on the dynamics in Jeno’s house. They think she’s not listening, but Haeun is actually very attentive.

“What did you tell her?” Taeyong asks.

“What do you think I told her? I said I’d purchase another!” Haeun’s laughter intensifies and she doubles over.

Taeyong pictures his mom at the breakfast table, jam made by someone she’s been badmouthing on her fresh bread slice and cackles.

For a minute, there’s only the sound of their combined waves of laughter echoing in the kitchen.

After it dies down, Haeun places a warm hand on Taeyong’s shoulder. She appraises him, then says, “You’re good boys, Taeyongie. You, and Mark. Always remember to treat everyone with kindness and respect.”

 _I always do_ , is at the tip of Taeyong’s tongue. He almost says it. Almost.

But then he’s reminded of Johnny, Kun, Sicheng and their friends, and his stomach drops.

Taeyong hasn’t been kind to them, has he? What makes the way he treated Johnny and the others any different from how his mother’s been talking about Jeno’s family? The fact that they were involved in a city-wide incident? The weed? The skateboards and greasy hair?

Giving Haeun a smile, Taeyong follows her with his gaze as she leaves the kitchen. He files this conversation in his memory. Just in case.

 

\--

 

Maybe Taeyong shouldn’t be walking the boardwalk on the way to the skatepark on his own. He’s never been around those guys without Doyoung or Ten, they’ll probably stare at him as if he’s a particularly interesting science experiment. The mere thought makes the hairs on his arms stand up. It’s a stupid idea. He tried calling both Doyoung and Ten earlier without success, paged them incessantly and got no return. The reasonable option would be to sit down and chill until any of them gets back to him. They’d probably find a reason to meet with the others soon, and then Taeyong would tag along.

Something kept itching in his belly, though, getting him uneasy and restless. It was just a thought at first -- would it be okay to show up at the skatepark, where the gang usually hangs out, alone and completely unannounced? Taeyong has never spent more than ten minutes chatting with any of them (he made sure of that), he wouldn’t even be able to say he’s acquainted with them. Aside from Johnny, that is. 

Johnny is legitimately the only person in that group Taeyong has bothered to even say hi to. He’d be going over there _because_ of Johnny, to give him the mixtape. It’s not anything remotely urgent, he can definitely put it on hold. Johnny might not even remember he asked Taeyong for it, he was high as a kite.

Yet, he drives to the pier, the tape he spent two hours putting together resting safely in the glove compartment.

Taeyong can hear the telltale sounds of Johnny and his friends from afar. Wheels hitting concrete, plastic scraping across the ground, a peal of smooth laughter he now knows belongs to Jaehyun.

He advances carefully, fingers tight around the tape, anxiety swirling in his stomach.

Kun is the first one to see Taeyong, the confusion in his face being quickly replaced by surprise. Johnny is standing next to him, a cigarette that looks vaguely like the ones Taeyong’s father smokes between two long fingers.

He’s wearing a striped long-sleeved shirt that’s at least two sizes above his and looks ages old. It’s even a bit stained on a sleeve, some holes burnt at the hem. Somehow, it fits Johnny’s whole aesthetic. He looks like if Jordan Catalano had decided to let his hair grow shaggy. And greasy.

A look like that is not supposed to make Taeyong’s belly flutter.

“Yo,” Johnny says in greeting. “Taeyong.”

His eyes run from Taeyong’s face to his chest, down to his legs and feet before looking up at him once more.

Taeyong clears his throat, urging himself to look less lost. He brought himself here, for crying out loud. 

“I doubt you remember, but you asked me to make you a mix.” Taeyong presents Johnny with the tape, leaving his arm stretched out between them.

Johnny takes a drag of his cigarette, holds the smoke in, blows it out careful not to let it reach Taeyong’s face. He pulls something out of his pocket and offers it to Taeyong. It’s a cassette tape.

He takes Taeyong’s with his cigarette hand, offering his own mixtape with the other.

“I remember.”

Taeyong eyes Johnny’s mix, turning it around in his hands. The words _Johnny’s Special Mix_ are scribbled on the paper underneath the plastic case, which is scratched all over and cracked in a corner.

“I’m gonna listen to yours now,” Johnny announces, retrieving a walkman from his backpack. 

Snapping his head up to face Johnny, Taeyong feels his eyes bulge with panic. “What, right now?” It’s an irrational fear, there’s nothing weird about his mix. It’s just… Somehow, it feels personal. He doesn’t want to be around while Johnny listens to it.

“Yeah,” Johnny takes another drag.

Taeyong blinks.

“Okay. Cool. I… Uh… I have to go.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. I have to help my brother with something.”

Johnny squints as he blows out smoke, eyes trained on Taeyong’s face. He seems to be pondering, noticing Taeyong’s thumbs pressing against the crack in the plastic case.

“Come over to the Arcade later. So I can tell you what I think of your mix.” 

“Um. Are Doyoung and Ten coming?”

Johnny turns to face Kun, who’s now lying on the ground with his head cushioned (or sort of) by a skateboard. “Did you tell Ten about the Arcade later?”

“I was about to run to the phone booth and call him,” Kun says.

Johnny looks at Taeyong, “You could tell him yourself.”

He could. But then he’d have to come clean about driving all the way up here by himself, and Taeyong just knows Ten would be overdramatic about it.

“I have to check if I don’t have anything this evening,” he lies.

“Sweet,” Johnny says.

“Thanks for the tape.”

“You too, Taeyong.”

A second goes by with silence between them, then Taeyong steps back. “Bye.”

Johnny smiles, eyes crinkling, and says, “Bye.”

 

Taeyong doesn’t show up at the Arcade later. Instead, he curls up in the couch with Mark and his friend Renjun watching reruns of The X Files. He doesn’t think about the way Johnny smiled as he said bye, not even once.

 

\--

 

“Why haven’t I seen Doyoung or Ten recently?”

Taeyong has a mouthful of bacon when the questions comes.

His father has already slipped away from the breakfast table while hurriedly checking his wristwatch, and his mother is currently pouring honey into her yogurt. Her manicured fingers are adorned with golden rings, and she’s already dressed to go out. Probably another outing with her friends.

Taeyong can feel Mark’s eyes on him, silently abetting their mother’s question.

Taeyong doesn’t really know how to respond, so he takes his time chewing. Well, he could say they’ve been busy. He could also say they’ve been spending more time at Doyoung’s -- she would have means of knowing he’s lying if he mentioned Ten’s house. Ten’s mother is one of the gal pals she meets at the club on a regular basis. What he absolutely cannot say is that the three of them have been exploring the entirety of the Valley with a group of people she would label as delinquents.

“Um,” Taeyong blinks, stalling by drinking some juice. “They, uh, we’ve been hanging out at Doyoung’s a lot.”

His mother hums in acknowledgment, scooping up a tiny bit of yogurt. “Are Jiwon and Heejung back from KYC?”

Right. His and Doyoung’s mothers have weekly book club together. Great.

Actually, Taeyong wouldn’t know if they’re back, he hasn’t been to Doyoung’s house in days. He remembers Doyoung mentioning they’d only flown to KYC for a weekend, so he just confirms with a nod.

“Heejung is in the organization committee for the fundraising next month,” his mom says. “Has Doyoung said anything about it?”

Taeyong frowns, “Why would he say anything about a fundraising?”

She carefully stirs the tea in her cup. “Heejung said she would try to get him involved and I thought it would be nice if you came as well.” Her eyes move to Mark. “Both of you.”

There’s the sound of silver clinking against porcelain as Mark shifts in his seat. “What?” He inquires in annoyance. “Why?”

“Zhong Chenle always attends functions. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but his mom forces him!” Mark squawks.

“And now I’m forcing you,” she smiles sweetly, sipping at her tea. “It’s important that we show up together occasionally.” 

To give the high society the impression of a close-knit and functional family. Picture perfect.

Mark huffs, folding his arms on his chest. “That’s total shizniz.”

Their mom places down her cup, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Nothin’” Mark mumbles. “Can I be excused?”

“You haven’t finished your cereal,” Taeyong points out.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Mark says grumpily.

“Go ahead,” their mom says, absently waving her hand. “Don’t forget to put dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, Haeun is having them sent to the dry cleaner’s today.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mark says before quickly exiting the dining room. 

“Are you meeting Doyoung today?” His mom asks, turning her attention to Taeyong.

Well, there were talks of heading down to this auto-shop where some guys have band rehearsals or something, Ten mentioned it briefly two nights ago.

“I think so,” he answers.

“Good. Ask him about the fundraiser. Ten as well, if you will. I’ll bring it up with Sarah. She’s been complaining about him acting elusive recently.”

Taeyong hums, trying not to give any indications of knowing anything about Ten’s elusiveness.

 

They’re in Doyoung’s car on their way to the band rehearsal when Taeyong brings up the topic of the fundraiser.

Doyoung groans, “My mom’s demanding that I go to this thing. Made me promise and everything. I don’t want to, but she’d open up a can of whoop-ass on me if I backed out.” He shoots Taeyong a look through the rear-view mirror. “Are you coming?”

“I’m the same, my mom wants Mark and I to go. That sounds like a snoozefest.” Taeyong pokes Ten at the passenger seat. “She asked me to try and convince you as well.”

Ten snorts, not even looking up from the comic he’s been reading as he says, “I’m not getting anywhere near an event like that. It’s an excuse for people like our parents to parade their lavish lifestyle in front of others and pose as pristine perfect people. I’m out.”

Well. That’s a way to put it. Not surprising coming from Ten, though. He was the one always mentioning people’s ill intentions and selfish motivation when organizing charity runs and the like.

That also sounds like an opinion Johnny or Yuta would share. Taeyong doesn’t know them very well, but somehow, he feels like they’d corroborate Ten’s speech.

It’s been about five days since Taeyong’s gotten his hands on Johnny’s mixtape, and for five days he hasn’t been able to listen to anything else. Not because the music is so good, but… He’s not sure. Taeyong can picture Johnny jamming to that mix if he closes his eyes. A couple of those songs played on the radio, so Taeyong already knew them. The rhythm is too heavy, and the pace of the songs too fast. Totally different from Taeyong’s Young MC and Kris Kross tunes. Different, but in a good kind of way.

Mark’s friend Donghyuck was hanging around while Taeyong chilled by the pool just yesterday, his portable stereo blasting Johnny’s mixtape. He asked Taeyong why he kept giving Mark the lame-ass mixes when he had “good stuff like this”. Taeyong’s mom would be horrified if she caught Mark listening to Rage Against The Machine. (He still made Donghyuck a copy.) 

After spending a good amount of hours listening to the mix, Taeyong thinks he can safely say that there’s no big deal about those bands. That whole afternoon listening to Father Nelson talk about the harmful effect of Kurt Cobain now seems like a massive, mad waste of Taeyong’s (and anyone else’s) time. It’s just music. 

“Hey,” Ten turns around in his seat. “Kun said you stopped by the skatepark last week. To give Johnny something?”

“What?” Doyoung inquires. “By yourself? When?”

Taeyong’s surprised it took this long for the cat to sneak out of the bag. There’s no reason to lie to them, if anyone would understand it’s Doyoung and Ten.

“I made him a mixtape,” Taeyong says, hoping to sound nonchalant.

“You did?” Ten asks. “Why? I thought you hated him and the others.”

Taeyong blinks rapidly, “I don’t _hate_ them, I was just… Disapproving.”

Doyoung doesn’t miss the past tense, squinting at Taeyong’s reflection. “You _were_?”

Huh. Yeah… Taeyong guesses he’s grown used to it. He still doesn’t like the smell of weed, and he thinks skateboarding under the effects of alcohol can be dangerous. However...

“They’re not that bad.” Saying it out loud doesn’t pain him as much as he thought it would. Maybe Taeyong is less like his mother than he assumed himself to be.

There’s silence for a bit as Doyoung and Ten process Taeyong’s words. They exchange a glance, the corners of Ten’s lips tilting up as he turns back to Taeyong. He looks like he wants to say something, but opts to remain silent.

“What?” Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Just spit it out.”

“Nothing,” Ten says, straightening himself on the seat. “Props to Johnny, though.”

He might as well have set Taeyong on fire. 

 

The auto-shop belongs to the cousin of someone named Taeil. Taeyong’s heard that name before, Taeil is the guy responsible for supplying the weed. He’s their drug dealer.

“He’s not a drug dealer!” Doyoung whispers, checking their surroundings for anyone who might have overheard. “Taeil has a plant. Well, many plants. He knows how to dry them out, I think.”

“Do you know him?” Taeyong asks.

“Yeah, he’s cool. Busy with college, though. He’s almost failing.” Doyoung levels him with a stare. “But don’t mention his plants. Ever.”

As if. That could turn Taeyong into an accessory. Or something.

Doyoung skips over to where Sicheng is sitting, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Sicheng’s ever stoic countenance brightens up at Doyoung’s arrival, and he rests a hand on Doyoung’s knee. A little further to their right, Ten has Kun in a back hug, tiptoeing in order to watch the band rehearsing over Kun’s shoulder.

They don’t sound so bad, but not good either. It’s like they’re trying to recreate the sound of one of those bands in Johnny’s mixtape. Specifically, the one singing about a 21st-century boy who lives in a digital world.

“Enjoying the music?” As if catching up with Taeyong’s line of thinking, Johnny appears next to him.

“Not really. They suck.”

Johnny snorts, “They got together two months ago. Jungwoo, the singer, used to hook up with Jaehyun. That’s how we know them.”

“Super,” Taeyong says half-heartedly. “Truth is I’d rather be home watching The Real World than here listening to this head-banging. Vaj is _this_ close to figuring out Montana’s been fucking other guys while in Boston.”

“Why aren’t you there, then?” Johnny shifts, leaning half of his body on the adjacent wall. Taeyong looks at him.

 _Yeah, Taeyong, why aren’t you there? You should probably go home. Make sure you practice thinking before running your mouth on your way there._ Sure, acting aloof would backfire.

Clearing his throat, Taeyong says, “We have a deal.”

“We don’t have a deal,” Johnny makes sure to rectify, brow creasing in concentration. “But if we did, that would be the only reason you’d hang out with us?”

“Well, duh,” Taeyong says, but his voice is kind of weak, and he avoids Johnny’s eyes, turning back to the band.

“Okay,” Johnny says. A moment passes before he’s saying, “Hey, I listened to your mixtape.”

Taeyong’s chest tightens as he stares at Johnny, “You did?”

“Aye.”

He’s not really saying anything, and it works to get Taeyong a little frantic. “And?” He demands.

“It was sweet,” Johnny says, hands finding their way into his pants pockets. Taeyong’s eyes follow the movement, sliding all the way back to Johnny’s eyes afterward. “Lots of dance tracks. I take it you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

“Dancing.”

Throughout grade school, Taeyong took the ballet lessons offered by Neo Prep (in addition to those Dancin’ Kim video tapes he used to watch with Ten in sworn secrecy). It was one of his favorite activities, but unfortunately not one he could pour all his effort and attention into. According to his father, Taeyong was supposed to focus on _real_ stuff, like debate club and tutoring.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “I do.”

“That’s cool,” Johnny replies. “The only move I know about is the Roger Rabbit.”

Taeyong snorts, unable to contain the chuckle the rolls out. “You must at least know about The Cabbage Patch.”

“I actually don’t.” When Taeyong gasps, Johnny leans away from the wall, closer to Taeyong. “Teach me?”

The answer to that should be a solid no. They’re in a stuffy auto-shop watching this really bad band rehearse, all of Johnny’s and Taeyong’s friends around. There’s an eighty percent chance of them being mocked, and Taeyong is not prone to engaging in situations with potential for ridiculing.

Yet.

“Okay, just flex your arms like this,” he takes a couple steps back, slightly folding his arms in front of him. Johnny’s got amusement all over his face, but follows the instructions. 

“Like this?” He asks.

“Yeah yeah. Now you want to rotate your arms clockwise like so,” Taeyong rotates his arms, watching Johnny copy the move. “Yeah, you’re good so far. Then you stop for a sec, and start moving the other way around.”

“Counter clockwise?”

“That’s right.”

“What do I do with my legs?”

“Oh, they lean away from your arms, like--”

“What the fuck are the two of you doing?”

Both of them come to a halt, glancing at Ten and Kun, who have apparently been watching the entire thing. Kun looks close to breaking into laughter, while Ten is downright repulsed. Heat spreads all over Taeyong’s face, and he lets his arms fall limp to his sides.

“Um.”

“He was teaching me how to dance,” Johnny says.

“You suck at dancing,” Kun offers.

“Hence why I need lessons, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Taeyong can definitely help you with that.” Ten chirps. To an unsuspecting onlooker, he appears helpful and casual. Taeyong knows what lies beyond the glint of his eye, though. There’s intention, and often a really wicked one. Ten operates almost like a modern Puck, and Taeyong is scared shitless of what he’s capable of doing.

“Really?” Johnny shoots Taeyong a look. Taeyong keeps his eyes glued to the figure of his (traitorous) best friend, who’s now smiling innocently.

“Oh yeah. He’s one of the best dancers in our ballet class,” Ten says. “Not the best ‘cause that’s me. But he does pretty well. Could have gone far if he’d auditioned for dance schools and companies.” 

That last sentence sounds way more organic than the rest of Ten’s speech, the look in his eyes softening when he looks at Taeyong. Taeyong, on the other hand, avoids the Ten’s gaze like the plague.

“And why didn’t you?” Johnny asks.

Taeyong looks up at him, “Why didn’t I what?”

“Audition for schools and companies?”

Taeyong blinks, unsure of how to proceed. He could tell Johnny the truth, it’s not something he wants to hide or anything. It’s not even a big deal, honestly. 

However, his silence must be telling. 

Next thing he knows Ten is quickly saying, “Hey, I’m kinda hungry! Do you guys wanna get grub?”

Johnny’s eyes, though, never leave Taeyong. They’re studying, like there’s something uber interesting in Taeyong’s face and he just must decipher.

“Good idea,” Kun says. “I think they’re almost done. We should check with the others if they’re up.”

“Sweet, let’s dip!”

Both of them shuffle away, but Taeyong and Johnny remain still. Eventually, Johnny’s eyes shift to the band, and Taeyong is thankful. 

It’s really, _really_ not a big deal. He’s had time to come to terms with it, and after some thinking, it became clear that quitting was for the best. 

Taeyong takes a deep breath, eyelids falling shut. He closes his hands into fists, then relaxes them, slowly letting his eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” comes the low sound of Johnny’s voice next to him. 

“It’s fine,” Taeyong is proud that his voice is steady when he answers.

He doesn’t even know what Johnny is apologizing for. 

 

The place of choice is not one Taeyong knows. Johnny’s crew, however, is clearly acquainted. The middle-aged waitress addresses them all by name and grants them courtesy fries. Which is nice, because this isn’t the kind of restaurant Taeyong would normally eat at, so he needs something to warrant his presence here. The walls are seemingly concrete, a shallow coat of beige paint masking the imperfections on the structure. There are ceiling fans, but Taeyong can barely feel any air circulating. Tables and chairs are quite old and rusty, and the fake flowers on the table are really dusty.

Doyoung and Ten don’t appear to be bothered by how low in the quality scale this restaurant is, which makes Taeyong wonder if they have been here before. Probably.

“You want a burger?” Johnny asks, leaning closer to Taeyong in order to share the menu in his hands. The proximity would have startled Taeyong if he weren’t distracted by how old and fading the menu is.

“Ah,” Taeyong blinks at Johnny, finally acknowledging the lack of space between them. He coughs, pulling away. “No, thanks.”

“You’re not hungry?” Johnny frowns. He is, actually. “Their burger is good. You could try the waffles, too.”

Waffles. Waffles sound safe, Taeyong likes waffles.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Soon enough he’s halfway done with the best waffles he’s ever tried. 

Taeyong eats fast, wolfing down the entire thing in quarters, barely remembering to clean the whipped cream off the corners of his mouth. Johnny, not even touching his own food, watches everything with something akin to fascination. It gets Taeyong a bit embarrassed, drinking some of his coke in order to wash down the waffles.

“Sorry,” he says.

Johnny shakes his head, “I’m just surprised you weren’t going to order anything. You were clearly starving.”

“The waffles are just really good,” Taeyong explains, cutting his last quarter of waffle in half.

“Yeah, they are. Sicheng used to work here in the past,” Johnny explains. He gestures to the several bowls of french fries on the table. “They still give us free stuff.” 

Taeyong blinks at Sicheng, now silently playing with Doyoung’s fingers as he listens to something Yuta is saying. 

“Why is he working two jobs?” Taeyong asks, turning back to Johnny. He knows it’s none of his business what Sicheng does, but he’s suddenly prickled with curiosity.

Johnny just shrugs, “His family hasn’t got much.”

“He’s not going to college?”

“Not now, at least.”

Almost as if he _knows_ they’re talking about him, Sicheng’s eyes settle on Taeyong. They’re stable, bold, tranquil. Taeyong knows absolutely nothing about Sicheng, but he looks like one of those people who carry a heavy load on their back, it having shaped the person he is right now. 

Taeyong looks away, finishing off his waffles.

“You haven’t told me what you thought of my mixtape,” Johnny points out.

“Oh,” Taeyong says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I thought it was… Bangin’.”

“Bangin’,” Johnny repeats, eyes sparkling.

“Yes. I know about a fifth of those bands, and only because I was advised to never attend their concerts.”

Johnny chuckles, flipping hair away from his forehead. “Your parents said that?”

Taeyong huffs, “I wish. It was the priest who conducted the ‘23 Things The Youth Should Avoid’ seminar.”

“That sounds hilarious, Taeyong.”

“Damn skippy,” Taeyong sips at his drink. “I still cringe every time I remember what a clusterfuck that was.”

“But do you agree?”

“With the priest?” Johnny nods. Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Not really.”

He recalls his mother’s words, his father’s attitude about rock bands, his cousin Sun who eloped with the guy who played drums at her mother’s third wedding.

“Well, everyone kept telling me people who listened to rock music did drugs and stuff,” Taeyong scratches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I believed them for a while.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m listening to this dude scream _’Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me’_ twenty-four seven.” Taeyong gauges Johnny’s reaction from behind his huge cup.

“Really?” Johnny asks, looking surprised. “You like the mix?”

Taeyong nods, placing his cup on the table. “It would send my mom into cardiac arrest, but I like it. Lots of explicit lyrics.”

At that, Johnny perks up, “Yours too, with all the 2Pac and Wu Tang Clan! I was surprised, you know? Never pegged you for a hip-hop kinda guy.”

“What were you expecting?” Taeyong asks amid giggles.

“I don’t know, more Hanson and less Dr. Dre.”

“There’s Hanson in the playlist,” Taeyong reminds him. “What was your favorite?”

“Out of all your songs?” When Taeyong nods, Johnny ponders, index finger tapping his cheek. “Might have been the Violent Femmes one.”

“I really like that song. Did you know it?”

“Yeah. Never gave it much attention.” Johnny’s eyebrows arch, and he says, “I didn’t know Movin’ on Up, though, and I liked it quite a lot.” He tilts his head, assessing Taeyong. “What was your favorite from my mix?”

“It was hard. You put a lot in that tape,” Taeyong gives him a pointed look.

“It was a C120,” Johnny announces proudly. “We only have those at home.”

Johnny said his father was a musician, Taeyong reminds himself. Of course they’d survive off music.

“Well?” Johnny prompts after a couple seconds in silence.

“I liked many, but if I’d have to choose it would be Under the Bridge.”

Johnny’s whole face lights up like a Christmas tree, and Taeyong has to bite his lip not to make a complete fool of himself grinning.

“Red Hot Chili Peppers!” He exclaims, shoulders sagging right after. “It’s a real sad song, though.”

“I don’t think so,” Taeyong says. “It’s about knowing oneself.”

Interested, Johnny rests his chin on the palm of hand, elbow on the table and his other arm hanging around the backrest of Taeyong’s chair. “How so?”

Taeyong adjusts in his seat, “Well, he’s talking about moments in which he felt lonely, right? And the places which brought him comfort. He knows that when he feels sad, he can find solace in the city he loves. I like it because you can really connect with it. Even if you’re bursting with happiness, when you listen to it you’re swallowed by those feelings. Not in a negative way; it makes you think about the kinds of stuff that bring you happiness. Like the city brings that guy his happiness.”

Taeyong feels like he’s just gone on a tirade, so he drinks his coke sheepishly. Johnny is still looking at him, and on his face is something Taeyong can’t really translate. Looks like surprise, but also fondness, which is weird. It’s weird for Johnny to be looking at him like that, they barely know each other. Right? 

Lowering his eyes, Taeyong returns his nearly empty glass of coke to the table. Johnny moves, and it’s only when the faintest of breezes hits him that Taeyong notices how close to each other they were sitting.

Out of mild panic, Taeyong says, “You should make me another one.” Johnny frowns at him, so Taeyong repeats, and explains, “Another tape.”

Johnny’s mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’, and he blinks, considering. Then, says, “I’ll do you one better. Why don’t you come to my house this Sunday afternoon? There’ll be a party. My parents do these things once every two months, gather all their friends, cook a lot of food. A bunch of musicians together is bound to end in live music.”

A party. At Johnny’s house. This Sunday afternoon? Taeyong’s got absolutely nothing planned for this Sunday. If anything he’d spend another day watching Mark and his friends play games. A little voice inside Taeyong’s head (sounds a lot like his mom) says he should say no; God knows what goes down in Johnny’s house, who will be there.

Another voice, one Taeyong has never heard before, says a party at Johnny’s house with lots of food and live music seems like a hella good time.

Praying that his voice isn’t as unsure as he is, Taeyong says, “Yeah. Um… I’ll let you know.”

Johnny smiles, big and bright and beautiful. “Sweet, Taeyong.”

 

\--

 

This might actually be the first time in weeks that Doyoung and Ten come over to Taeyong’s house. Taeyong’s mother was flipping through a fashion magazine in the living room when they came in, piping up about how she hasn’t seen them around lately, sending her best to their parents, mentioning the damned fundraiser. Doyoung and Ten are all smiles and pleasantries, but don’t protest when Taeyong pulls them away.

Now they’re lounging in Taeyong’s room, Johnny’s mixtape in the background, enjoying each other’s company. Doyoung is taking notes off a course catalogue, Ten is clipping his toes and Taeyong lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Thoughts have been swirling inside his head ever since the auto-shop gig. About dancing, and his parents, and _Johnny_. 

After much deliberation, Taeyong’s been thinking about Johnny as a package; a huge box filled with things that might or might not be good for you. Upon opening that box you might have to deal with all its contents; the rock bands, the skateboards, the eighty rodents, the smoke, the greasy hair. Also, the soft eyes that look at Taeyong as if there’s affection in them, and the way Taeyong’s name is pronounced with near reverence. Long legs, plump lips, deep voice, a wee bit of a lisp.

Taeyong sighs, calling out, “Tennie?”

Ten hums apathetically. Taeyong turns on his side and looks at his friend, engrossed in clipping his toes.

“Does Johnny have a girlfriend?” He asks.

It’s funny how fast both Doyoung and Ten look up at Taeyong. Suddenly, the nail clipper is dropped, and the course catalogue is pushed aside.

“He doesn’t,” Ten says, voice colored with enthusiasm. “In fact, he doesn’t even date girls.”

Taeyong’s heart does an embarrassing flip, and he feels his cheeks tingle. 

“Why do you ask?” Doyoung squints, scooting closer to both Taeyong and Ten.

Taeyong shrugs, trying to appear disinterested. He asks, “Did he ever say anything? About me?”

Doyoung snorts, and Ten throws his head back in laughter. 

“It’s only all he ever talks about,” Doyoung says, rolling his eyes. Taeyong’s stupid heart does another flip. 

“He has interrogated us about you since the first time you stepped foot into the skatepark,” Ten confesses. In what seems to be an impression of Johnny’s deep voice, he says, “ _Is Taeyong single? Does he kiss boys? Does he listen to Pearl Jam?_ ” Ten huffs. “Your hostile front did absolutely nothing to deter him.”

Licking his surprisingly dry lips, Taeyong looks up at his friends, “He asked me to a party. This Sunday.”

Doyoung’s forehead creases for a second, but then his face lights up in realization. “Ah! His parents’ soirée!” 

Taeyong nods, “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know,” Doyoung replies. “Yuta said something about it, but Jaehyun’s got a skate competition, so I’m not sure.”

“Jaehyun participates in skateboarding competitions?” Taeyong had no idea. Then again, did he ever address Jaehyun directly?

“Yeah, he could be really big. The next Tony Hawk,” Doyoung says knowledgeably. 

Taeyong frowns, “Who’s Tony Hawk?”

“A skateboarder,” Ten answers. “Super famous. The thing is that they’re still figuring out if they’re going to Jaehyun’s thing or Johnny’s thing.”

“The skate event sounds important,” Taeyong says.

“Nah, this is just an informal thing, there’s no prize,” Ten explains. “Jae is doing it to put himself out there. Make sure people know his name.”

If Kun or Sicheng decide to watch Jaehyun compete, Doyoung and Ten will surely follow them. And then Taeyong will be at Johnny’s party all by himself. His stomach twists, and he swallows anxiously at the thought.

“You should go to Johnny’s party even if the others don’t,” Ten advises.

Taeyong eyes him carefully. “Have you ever attended one?”

Ten shakes his head. “Not yet. Everyone says it’s awesome, though. His parents are super cool, and they know all kinds of amazing people.” There’s a pause, and Ten is shooting Taeyong with a wary, calculated look. “They don’t invite just anyone, so he must really want you to go.”

Taeyong blinks down at his hands. “What did you say when he asked if I had a girlfriend?”

“We told him the truth,” Doyoung says. “That you haven’t been with anyone since Jennie Crystal in 7th grade.”

“We also mentioned you started signing as _Taeyong De Pointe du Lac_ after 'Interview with the Vampire’,” Ten adds helpfully. “That's why he asked if you kissed boys.”

“And what did you say?” Taeyong bites his fingers.

Doyoung slaps Taeyong’s hand off his mouth, saying, “We said we thought so. All we really had to work with was a month of severe Brad Pitt feelings. He seemed pleased.”

Those weren’t just feelings, Taeyong had a commitment to Brad Pitt. He thinks he’s still got all the posters hidden away somewhere in the basement. 

So Johnny’s been asking about Taeyong. According to the John Hughes Guide to Teenage Angst, that is a textbook display of interest. If the way Taeyong’s mouth wants to curl upward is any indication, he’s pleased to know Johnny might like him. Which probably means Taeyong likes Johnny as well. It definitely means Taeyong likes Johnny.

Taeyong likes Johnny. 

He doesn’t even remember liking anyone since the 7th grade; this feeling of having a monster truck ride over your chest seems foreign to Taeyong. It definitely didn’t feel like this back in the day. 

The sound of a grunt makes Taeyong snap out of his own thoughts and look up at his friends.

“Don’t overthink this,” Ten says. “I know you’re still under that impression that Johnny and the other guys are bad news because of The Great Mouse Takeover, but they’re not! They’re just… Regular people enjoying themselves before college starts next Fall.”

Taeyong doesn’t think they’re bad news. His parents would certainly have that opinion. They might be acting out of love and an instinct to protect, but Taeyong is slowly starting to notice that the method they use to seep through what they think is appropriate is kind of unfair. For instance, it filters out Mark’s friend Jeno solely for not having been born into a rich family and having a shitty father. That same filter would definitely leave Johnny and the ‘Rat Boys’ out, but not only because of the thing with the rats. 

Because they went to a public school. 

Because they smoke and drink alcohol and ride skateboards while listening to head-banging music.

Because some of them have to work two jobs to keep afloat.

It’s outraging, and knowing that Taeyong himself has had those thoughts makes him want to curl up in shame. 

“Did you know he spent an entire day fixing up that mixtape for you?” Doyoung asks. Taeyong feels like his chest is being pounded by a sledgehammer. His hand clutches the fabric of his shirt as if it can somehow ease his heart into a normal rate. 

“I spent two hours on mine,” Taeyong says weakly. 

Doyoung smiles knowingly, and Ten crawls closer, folding his arms on Taeyong’s mattress.

“You like him,” Ten says. There’s no accusation or teasing in his voice. He’s just stating a fact. “You haven’t liked anyone since the 7th grade.”

 _I haven’t._ Taeyong nods, feeling his breath coming out ragged.

“Taeyongie,” Ten calls affectionately, and Taeyong meets his eyes. He sees reassurance there. “I know Johnny is not the kind of person your parents would approve. Just like mine wouldn’t let me anywhere near Kun.” He seems to have something in his mind, taking a deep breath before looking up at Taeyong again. “He cleans pools around here, you know?”

“Who? Kun?” Taeyong’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth parting. “No, I… I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” Ten smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Imagine my mother’s face if she knew I fell for the pool boy.” He turns around to briefly glance at Doyoung. “Sicheng works two jobs and might pick up a third after summer.”

That’s worrisome. Taeyong asks, “Can he even take it?”

“He doesn’t have a choice, Taeyong,” Doyoung says. “He’s got three younger brothers and a chronically depressed father.”

Taeyong’s chest aches with something he doesn’t identify at first, but two beats in he understands it’s regret. Remorse for having been so prejudiced, so cruel. 

“We’ve been living in this glass dome,” Doyoung continues. “Everything carefully thought out for us, our whole lives. Piano lessons, French tutor, Italian _au pairs_. Then lacrosse team, country club, golf pals, MBA.” With an eye roll, Doyoung huffs. “Fucking fundraisers.”

“Hate the fundraisers,” Ten agrees.

“Which of those things are your favorites, Taeyong?” Doyoung inquires sarcastically, tilting his head. “When did they ask if you’d rather take French or, I don’t know, Portuguese language classes?” 

Taeyong is silent; Doyoung continues, “They never ask, Taeyong. And it’s not simply because they know what’s best for us. It’s because they don’t care what we really want, it’s never been about us.”

The words sound too harsh, but they’re not wrong. Tareyong knows Doyoung is not wrong, it hasn’t been about them for a while now. Maybe that’s why Taeyong’s quivering right now, because he lacks stamina, he lacks vigor. He was never capable of fighting for the things he wanted, he was groomed to quietly settle for anything his parents offered. It was like that when he was nine and asked if he could get a pet. It was like that when they told him to put ‘more of himself’ into debate club, when they told him he shouldn’t keep taking ballet classes after graduation. Taeyong accepted it all too easily. He just bowed and kept his lips tight shut.

Johnny and the others do not seem to be like that. They would probably be able to stand their ground. They might be a little more resilient than Taeyong, who was raised in what is considered an appropriate environment for children and happens to be severely lacking in many crucial areas.

“Yeah. I know.” Gazing at Doyoung, Taeyong asks, “Are you… Do you like Sicheng?”

Doyoung smiles, shrugs. “Yeah. It’s different with us. We’re not… I don’t know how to put it. We’re just… We like spending time together.”

Taeyong doesn’t understand, but he’d rather leave it at that than press Doyoung when not even he seems to know what’s going on. He chooses to turn to Ten instead. “Are you going to tell your parents about Kun?”

Ten sucks in a breath. “I’ll have to, eventually.” He then meets Taeyong’s eyes resolutely. “We’re moving to KYC in the Fall.”

Now _that_ has Taeyong’s jaw dropping dead to the ground.

“What?! You’re--? What about East Walkiria? Aren’t you going to college there?”

“Well, there was a slight change of plans,” Ten says, biting his lower lip. “I auditioned to KC Dance Academy. I got in.”

It’s like Taeyong loses control of his limbs, whole body going numb. He lies very still in his comfortable, expensive mattress as Ten repeats himself:

“I got into KC Dance Academy.”

Several things cross Taeyong’s mind at once: 

_This could have been me_.

 _His parents are gonna kill him_.

 _Is he completely out of his mind_?

 _He doesn't even know Kun_!

But ultimately, the only thing he can manage is silence.

Taeyong stares at his friends and says nothing.

“I know what you're thinking,” Ten says, standing on his knees. “But Kun got into a film school there way before we met, he was already going there.” He swallows, downcasting his eyes. “I had already applied to the Academy, as well. There was an audition last week. I told my parents I was staying at Doyoung's and… Flew there.”

Taeyong gasps, eyes bulging at Doyoung. “You knew?”

“Y-Yeah,” he replies, eyes just as wide. “The fact that I luckily fit the box my parents presented me with doesn’t give me the right to reprimand Ten for not fitting his!”

So Taeyong was the only one not privy to Ten's master plan. He was completely and utterly oblivious, totally in the dark.

He eyes both of them, mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he ponders over what to even say. Should he complain? Express hurt over being left out? 

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asks.

“Because, Taeyong!” Ten throws his hands in the air, then lets them fall to his sides. “You… You did exactly what they wanted, you… You molded yourself to fit _The Plan_! I thought you'd try to talk me out of it.” 

He’s right. Taeyong would’ve probably tried to convince him not to move. Just like he tried to pull them away from Kun and Sicheng.

Ten lowers his head, thumbs fiddling with each other. “And I didn’t want you to feel bad about giving up.”

His voice is coming out shaky and watery, and Taeyong’s heart tightens. 

“I don’t want to be an architect,” Ten says. His eyes lack their usual spark. “I don’t want pledge to Kappa Phi Delta just because my father did, I don’t want to inherit the company. I want to dance, Taeyong. I’m good at it, I know I can make it.”

“You can,” Taeyong says. Ten smiles sadly.

“They’re gonna cut me off. But lots of people make it without millions.”

“How are you paying for the Academy?” 

“I can take out a loan,” Ten says. “Kun’s dad has a friend in KYC. This guy owns a small chain of video rentals. He says he can get us jobs. Whatever else we can think of.”

If there’s one thing Taeyong can say he never even thought about, that thing is Ten working at a video rental store.

“I know you might think I’m crazy. I’ve known Kun for a month and a half, he’s practically a stranger,” says Ten. “But if it doesn’t work out I’ll move out, get my own place, do whatever it takes. This one thing, Taeyong, I’m doing for myself. We only get one life, is it fair that I have to live it according to someone else’s wishes? No money in this goddamned, forsaken planet can compensate for a life of unhappiness.”

Once more, he’s right. Kids like Doyoung, Taeyong, and Ten were raised to believe money and power are synonyms of happiness, that once you have a mansion and three Ferraris in your garage you officially made it. That’s not always the case. It’s not for Ten. Certainly not for Taeyong.

The difference is that Taeyong conformed. He gave it all up for the ‘dream’. A dream that’s never been his. Taeyong doesn’t care about hedge funds, or asset management. Like Ten, he wanted to dance. 

Taeyong gets it. He gets why Ten would just throw everything away, trace his own path. Taeyong knows, and it’s worth it. He didn’t have the guts to do what Ten is doing, but Taeyong understands. 

He smiles, reaches out for his friend’s hand. “I’m really happy for you, Tennie.”

Just as if Taeyong’s pushed open the door to the waterworks, Ten crumbles, tears falling heavily down his cheeks. Taeyong climbs off his bed, sliding down to the floor in front of Ten and getting his arms open in invitation. It takes Ten less than a second to hug him.

“I’m s-so sorry I didn’t t-tell you,” Ten stammers. Taeyong just strokes his head, gently pats his back. “I wanted to. So many times.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about that,” Taeyong assures him, pressing a kiss to Ten’s temple. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”

“It’s so scary,” Ten wails, slotting his wet face into Taeyong’s neck. “I’ll be on my own, what if I fuck everything up--?”

“You won’t be alone, dummy,” Taeyong says.

“We’ll be right here,” Doyoung adds.

The reaction they were going for was _not_ Ten crying even harder, hiccups making everything messier. Doyoung laughs, ruffling Ten’s hair, and Taeyong just holds him.

 

Later, when Ten’s crying has halted and their bellies are full with Haeun’s delicious bread, Doyoung sits next to Taeyong by the window.

“Go to the party,” he says. “Don’t stress too much.”

After everything they’ve talked about this afternoon, Taeyong thinks that’s the least of what he owes himself -- attending a party without feeling like he’s breaking a rule.

 

\--

 

The drive to Johnny’s house is peaceful. The neighborhood is a nice one, large land and big houses. Taeyong would bet that the residents around here have a good sum in their bank accounts. Thanks to a very helpful map provided by Doyoung (who apparently got it from Yuta), Taeyong only gets lost once. A really nice lady helps him get back on track and he arrives at Johnny’s house mere fifteen minutes late.

Then he spends twenty minutes inside his car unable to lift a single toe. He glares at his reflection through the rearview mirror and gives himself the worst pep talk ever.

The person who answers the door for Taeyong squints at him for a good ten seconds before asking if Taeyong is lost, which would be intimidating if the shirt he’s wearing didn’t portray The Bananas in Pyjamas.

“I’m a friend of Johnny’s?” Taeyong says, shoulders hunching a bit involuntarily. Upon noticing his posturing, he straightens up.

“Oh, yeah, he’s out back. What’s your name again?” Bananas dude asks. He’s got a really long beard and pink, heart-shaped glasses.

“Taeyong.”

“Sweet. Okay, Taeyong, I’ll get Johnny. Can you wait for a second?” Taeyong nods. Bananas dude shoots him a smile, then slams the door in his face.

Taeyong stares at the closed door knowing for a fact that he’s got a gaping mouth. What… Kind of person just shuts the door on a guest? The least he could have done is ask someone to get Johnny and keep Taeyong company by the door. He stands there for a bit, then the door is being yanked open.

Johnny’s eyebrows arch really high, and he clasps Taeyong’s shoulders. “Taeyong! I’m so sorry! We don’t really let strangers in, he just had to make sure I knew you.”

“That’s alright, I haven’t been here long,” A lie, actually. It’s been at least twenty-five minutes since Taeyong parked out front.

“Come on in,” Johnny says, guiding Taeyong into his house.

Taeyong was feeling kinda panicky when he pulled up front, so he missed on how huge the house is. The windows are massive, bringing sunlight into the open plan, spacious and bright, several plant pots scattered all around the living room. It reminds Taeyong of a ranch home. 

The furniture is all white and brown, giving it a natural, organic feel. The wall above the fireplace is decorated with three acoustic guitars, piles and more piles of records on the floor. Not far from the fireplace there’s a corner table with a big record player. 

It’s all so different from Taeyong’s house.

“Your house is really nice,” Taeyong says as he takes it all in. 

“Thanks,” Johnny turns around to smile at Taeyong. “My folks work really hard on it everyday.”

When they get to the backyard, Taeyong is flabbergasted.

First, there’s a garden. Not a small, corner garden of flowers like the one his mother keeps in their backyard just so she can boast to her friends about the petunias. This garden is filled with herbs and berry bushes and small fruit trees. On the other side of the backyard there are two medium-sized trees and right under their shade, three picnic tables. A big grill is set nearby, a tall woman working on some hamburgers while animatedly chatting. There are fairy lights hanging from the trees, and although it’s still afternoon, they look nice with the tree leaves above them. 

Children run past them excitedly, two large dogs following them. There are a lot of people. Some of them are huddled around a bonfire that hasn’t been lit yet, a couple of guitars being strummed left and right, other guests humming to tunes. Johnny’s house is bustling with life.

“That’s my mom,” Johnny points to the tall woman by the grill. “Do you want to say hi?”

Common rules of decorum state that Taeyong _must_ greet the host. That’s what his mom would do. Yet, his stomach turns at the sheer thought of meeting Johnny’s mother. She’s so tall and beautiful, standing there by the grill with a hand on her hip and the other holding a spatula, her hair tied back really messily.

Johnny looks like her, Taeyong realizes. His mouth and nose. 

Swallowing thickly, he looks up at Johnny, who’s patiently waiting for Taeyong to answer.

“Sure,” he says, taking a deep breath as Johnny nods and leads the way.

“Mom!” he calls, attracting more attention than Taeyong would have liked. “This is Taeyong, a friend of mine.”

Johnny’s mom and other four people turn to look at Taeyong.

“H-hi,” Taeyong lifts a hand in greeting, offering a smile that he knows is tight and kinda frightened. “Nice to meet you.”

She smiles, eyes sharp and curious. “Hello, Taeyong,” she glances between Johnny and Taeyong. “This is your first time here, isn’t it?”

Taeyong nods, “You have a really nice house.”

“Thank you, we’re proud of it.” She grabs a plate, puts three burgers in it, then passes it over to Taeyong, whose eyes widen so comically she bursts in laughter. “You can share with Johnny if that’s too much.”

“Okay,” Taeyong says. “Thank you.”

“You two go grab a seat.”

“Thanks mom,” Johnny says, leading Taeyong to the third picnic table, which is filled with huge bowls and trays of food. 

“Wait, there’s more food?” Taeyong asks in shock. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to eat what I have right now.”

Johnny snorts, taking the plate from Taeyong’s hands. “We’ll share. Want some salad?”

Taeyong nods, allowing Johnny to fill up his (their, actually) plate. He notices the golden details on the brim of the plate, how the whole piece looks rustic and handmade.

“This is beautiful,” Taeyong says, finger running on the outer rim of the plate.

“My dad makes these,” Johnny says. “He’s into ceramic and stuff.”

“They’re musicians, you said?” Taeyong asks. Johnny gets them a place in the second picnic table. There’s only a young boy eating there. His eyes never even leave his own plate.

Johnny hums, offering Taeyong a fork. “Big time naturalists, too. Although they’ve managed to adapt, they’re still very much against a couple of modern practices. Like extreme consumerism.”

“They’re hippies?” Taeyong asks, stabbing a potato with his fork. 

“Unsolved mystery,” Johnny says. “They refuse to talk about the seventies.”

“That’s curious.”

“Very,” Johnny says theatrically, chewing on his salad. He swallows, and continues, “Yuta was determined to figure out what happened to them back then for some time. He spent three days scavenging our basement for clues.”

Taeyong frowns, “What did your parents have to say about that?”

“They entertained him for a bit. Then he got annoying so they locked him in there for two hours.”

Taeyong chuckles, “They sound awesome.”

“They are,” Johnny says. His eyes glint with pride, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Some people might say we’re not… Conventional. As a family. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“What do you mean?”

Johnny shrugs, “My parents. Me. They don’t have conventional jobs, my dad writes songs for other people, my mom makes jingles for TV.”

That’s surprising. A job in marketing might grant one a whole lot of money. That wasn’t what Taeyong expected when Johnny said his parents were naturalists.

“She used to compose for fun a couple years ago, but things got rough money-wise and my dad got in touch with someone he knew. She’s been writing songs for TV ads ever since.”

Taeyong takes a bite of a burger. He’s dying to ask, but it would be impolite. He might not even need to ask, though. Just a glance at Johnny’s house, the size, the garden-- It’s enough to suggest they could have a lot of money.

“Your father,” Taeyong questions, trying not to sound too invasive. “Does he compose for famous people?”

“Oh, big time,” Johnny says, leaning a bit closer to Taeyong as he adds in a cryptic voice, “It’s a secret.”

It only serves to irk Taeyong’s curiosity (and his nerves, too. That was too close.) “Why?”

“He’s a ghost writer,” Johnny explains. “The songs he writes are copyrighted under the recording artists’ name.”

But that doesn’t make sense. Taeyong frowns. “What? But why?”

“That’s how ghostwriting works,” Johnny shrugs. “Maybe that artist can’t or doesn’t have enough time to write, maybe they lack the talent, I don’t know. Whatever their reasons are, the label hires someone else to write a song according to their specifications. That’s where my father comes in.”

Huh. The more you know.

Still, it doesn’t answer all the questions. “But is he happy as a ghostwriter?” 

“He prefers, actually, not having his name tied to any of those songs. They’re mostly really tacky pop songs.”

“Okay, now I’m even more curious,” Taeyong says, and Johnny laughs. “Do I know any of the songs your dad wrote?”

“You might. They’re on the radio everyday.”

Taeyong squints, pointing his fork at him. “We’re going to finish off these burgers, then we’re getting back to this enigma.”

Johnny salutes him rather exaggeratedly, and Taeyong snorts, eating some more salad.

 

When sunset comes, they get the bonfire lit. Johnny’s father, a man just as tall as his wife, greasy hair like his son’s, introduces himself to Taeyong and talks about his work with clay and ceramic. He sounds youthful and pleasant, his boisterous laughter resonating all over the backyard. 

Johnny sticks with Taeyong the entire time. They sit together on a log close to the garden, arms brushing, knees touching.

“I like sitting here in the morning,” Johnny says. “It’s so peaceful. The sun is not too high up, there aren’t many bugs. I’m gonna miss it.”

There’s a certain tinge of melancholy to his words. He’s watching the garden with fondness, as if it means something to him. Taeyong wouldn’t be able to relate, everything about the place he lives but his bedroom seems impersonal. 

“Where are you going to college?”

“North,” Johnny says, turning to face Taeyong. “You?”

“Verona,” he answers. In response to Johnny’s mild surprise, Taeyong waves a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing much.”

“Are you kidding me? They have super restricted programs.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “Yeah. My father called the board of admissions.”

Johnny makes a sound of protest, gently elbowing Taeyong. “That’s not all it takes. Give yourself credit where is due.”

It’s just an appreciative comment, but it still gets Taeyong blushing. He can feel it in the way the tips of his ears tingle. Johnny can clearly see the flush as well; he reaches for Taeyong’s earlobe, giving it a quick squeeze.

There’s a bit more of that affection Taeyong saw in his eyes the other day when he asks, “Why are you blushing? I was just saying.”

Taeyong absently scratches his ear, averting his eyes. He knows Johnny is watching him, which sends Taeyong into hyper-awareness. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Johnny scoots closer, peering down into Taeyong’s eyes.

“Blushing, I’m not blushing.” it’s such a lame thing to say. To top it all off, Taeyong chances a look up and is met with Johnny’s eyes. The proximity has him sucking in a breath, that annoying tingling all over his face still urging him to just run and hide.

Johnny looks like he’s biting back a smile. “Okay,” he says. “If you say so.”

They sit in silence for a bit. The air grows chilly, and Taeyong is starting to regret his decision of not bringing a coat. He rubs his arms hoping the friction will warm him up a bit.

Johnny peers at him, “Are you cold?”

“A little bit,” Taeyong frowns at him. “Aren’t you?”

“Not much, I’m used to being out here at night,” he says, then stands up. “Let’s sit closer to the bonfire.”

They bring some foldable chairs just close enough to the fire to be comfortable. Taeyong notices a couple of dudes with guitars getting ready and positioning themselves across the bonfire. Johnny _did_ mention this was bound to end in live music, so Taeyong anticipated. It’s sort of exciting; the only live music Taeyong’s ever experienced comes from orchestras and string quartets at fanciful charity events and some of his mom’s soirées.

These guys, though, they look like the real deal. One of them has tattoos all over his body, long hair like that Nirvana dude and somewhat of grunge apparel. Very musician-like.

The first few strums of their guitars seem tentative, but soon enough they’re getting into a rhythm, something fast-paced and energetic. Some people cheer, others step closer in curiosity. 

“You like the music?” Johnny asks, breaking the spell cast upon Taeyong by acoustic guitars and melodic voices.

“It’s nice,” he says. “Who are they?”

“Some friends,” Johnny says vaguely.

Taeyong smiles, watching as Nirvana dude hits a heartfelt note. “You seem to have a lot of those.”

“Why yes, I’m quite popular. I think it’s my charm.”

A girl nearby yells a praise and Nirvana dude winks at her. Taeyong snorts, turning to arch an eyebrow at Johnny.

“You don’t think I’m charming, Taeyong?” Johnny asks, feigning indignation with a hand on his chest.

There are two ways this can play out. He can jokingly tell Johnny there’s nothing charming about him, maybe drop a lame line about how Taeyong himself is much more charming. 

_Or_ he can compromise and be honest. Downright tell Johnny that he’s the most charming guy Taeyong’s ever met; that despite their very distinct backgrounds and personalities, Taeyong is entranced, unable to look at Johnny and see a skeezy pot-head he’d rather not associate with. He’s so much more than a skeezy pot-head, he’s… He’s passionate, and insightful, and inspired. And his family is _so cool_. Johnny is _so cool_ , and Taeyong likes spending time with him. He’d spend the whole summer lying around that godforsaken skatepark with Johnny, listening to him talk about music and the things he likes -- which Taeyong is so curious about! He wants to know more, he wants to ask about high school. Not the rat thing, Taeyong wants to know what classes were Johnny’s favorites, what activities he enrolled in, what kinds of books he read. It’s like Johnny is this fascinating new thing; a magical book filled with spells and potion recipes of various kinds -- every single one carefully crafted to send Taeyong’s stomach into a fluttering craze. Because Johnny is so wholesome. 

Taeyong blinks at him, lets his lips fall open. 

“I think you’re very charming,” he says. At this point, he doesn’t think he could go with the other option.

The smile that takes over Johnny’s face steals Taeyong’s breath away.

“I’m flattered,” Johnny says, eyes lowering to his lap, a nice flush coloring his cheeks. He’s gorgeous.

Taeyong doesn’t register for how long he sits there, staring at Johnny’s profile. One song blends into another, and suddenly the sun is nowhere to be seen, moonlight shining over the corners of the backyard where the fire glow doesn’t reach. Taeyong brings his knees to his chest. The atmosphere is cozy; urges him to make himself at home in this foldable chair with a nice cup of tea -- preferably served in a handcrafted ceramic piece.

“This is nice,” he says, leaning a cheek on his knees and turning to face Johnny, who blinks at him in question. Taeyong explains, gesturing at the bonfire. “This,” he looks around the backyard. “All this. It’s very… Intimate. Nothing like the parties at my house.”

“Tell me about the parties at your house.”

“They’re… They suck. It’s mostly my parents talking about their latest accomplishments and their friends trying to one-up each other. So boring. The food consists of tiny portions of fish guts and other weird stuff.”

“Doesn’t sound very party-like.”

“It’s not. That’s why I like this,” Taeyong smiles at him, wrapping both arms around his legs. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Johnny watches him for a second then hums, reaching out to take one of Taeyong’s hands in his own.

“Thank you for coming, Taeyong.”

Johnny’s thumb keeps caressing the back of Taeyong’s hand. It’s sweet; makes Taeyong feel warm and his heart beat just a little bit faster. He doesn’t remember the last time anyone’s touched him with so much care. They sit like that for a while, hand in hand, the chatter of Johnny’s party guests mixing up with the music. Most of the people have dispersed by now, only a few lounging by the fire. All of a sudden Johnny stands up and walks towards Nirvana dude and his pal. They never stop playing as Johnny leans down to whisper, only offering him a nod in response to whatever was said. Looking pleased, Johnny makes his way back. There’s something hidden behind the smile he’s trying hard to bite back. Pride? Maybe satisfaction. 

Taeyong is never given the chance to ask. The moment Johnny sits down, the tune changes and the song they’re playing is finally one Taeyong recognizes.

With an excited gasp, Taeyong lets his legs slide to the ground. “That’s the song!”

“It is,” Johnny says. 

Under the Bridge. Taeyong’s favorite song from Johnny’s mix.

By now Taeyong knows this song by heart -- he could even go up there and play the chords with Nirvana dude. Yet, the melody sends a shiver down his spine, makes Taeyong’s breathing a little heavy. 

He turns to Johnny, asks, “Did you ask them to play that?”

Johnny just nods. His skin is all goosebumpy and the air is suddenly so much colder. Taeyong reaches for Johnny’s hand again. There’s a tremble to his fingers, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. He laces their fingers together, glances up at Johnny, whose eyes are sparkling with awe. Taeyong smiles at him; swallows down the unease in his throat. This is pretty much it. There’s no way around it. His chest is brimming with affection, sheer adoration for this one person who’s not at all the delinquent Taeyong had thought him to be. He’s nothing like Taeyong imagined. He’s so much more.

“I think I like you,” Taeyong says.

He feels like this is so unfair. Because _now_ , now that he looks at Johnny and feels like his whole body is being crushed by something so much bigger than himself, Taeyong is POSITIVE he’s never been in love before. Because whatever he felt for Jennie Crystal and, say, Brad Pitt had never felt like the absolute hurricane of emotions merely gazing into Johnny’s eyes provokes inside him.

“You think?” Johnny asks, not at all patronizing. It’s genuine and kind, so Taeyong nods. Johnny lifts Taeyong’s hand, presses a kiss to the back. “I’m pretty sure I like you a lot, Taeyong.”

Yeah. This is it. No way back. 

Taeyong swoons, and leans in.

It’s a bit uncomfortable because the arms of their foldable chairs are in the way, but Taeyong comes forward, touches his nose to Johnny’s, twisting in the chair so his free hand is able to find Johnny’s shoulder. Taeyong kisses the corner of Johnny’s mouth in such a timid way, pulls back to gauge Johnny’s reaction. Johnny is all pink on the face, but smiling nonetheless. It’s all the encouragement Taeyong needed to kiss him again.

He adjusts in his seat this time, making it easier for both of his hands to land on Johnny’s neck, thumbs pulling Johnny’s chin down so Taeyong can kiss him better. They’re just quick presses of lips at first, Johnny’s plump (so _so_ plump) lips closing around Taeyong’s bottom one. And then things pick up. Taeyong angles his face and gives Johnny’s mouth a tentative lick. It might not have been the wisest move. Johnny sucks in a breath, and it’s quite loud. 

They’re not alone, per se.

In this particular case, there’s a lot of people around them.

Taeyong backs away, horrified.

“Oh my god,” he brings both hands to his mouth, unable to look around and see how many people were enjoying their little show. “Everyone is watching. Oh my God.”

Johnny chuckles. It’s slow, kinda like he’s not really here yet. “Relax. They’re cool. Do you wanna come inside?”

Taeyong nods. He needs to get out of this backyard, he needs to remove himself from the presence of Johnny’s parents. Johnny’s parents, _fuck_.

He allows Johnny to pull him up and drag him inside. Taeyong keeps his eyes on the ground the entire time, acutely aware of his whole body tingling in shame. God. How could he make such a fool of himself.

Once they’re in, Johnny doesn’t stop walking as Taeyong expected him to. He keeps going, and soon they’re climbing the stairs.

“Is it okay if we go into my room?” Johnny asks, halting by the door. He eyes Taeyong carefully, their hands still firmly attached to one another.

“Yeah, just go in,” Taeyong says hurriedly, pushing Johnny inside. 

Johnny, laughing, turns around and holds both of Taeyong’s forearms. “Hey, chill. Don’t bug out. No one even noticed.”

“How do you know?” Taeyong demands. The sound Johnny made was quite loud, oh _God_. What would Father Nelson say--

“They were listening to the music, Taeyong,” Johnny says patiently and gently squeezes Taeyong’s arms. “Don’t worry about it.”

His voice sounds soothing, so Taeyong lifts his eyes and is instantly hit with his not-so-newfound feelings. His eyes lower to Johnny’s lips and he focuses on the way they curl at the corners, his cupid’s bow. Taeyong takes a deep breath, then exhales.

“Wow,” Taeyong wheezes. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Johnny chuckles, that shade of pink Taeyong is getting quite familiar with turning to tinge his cheeks. Taking a few steps closer, Johnny’s hand finds a spot at Taeyong’s hip, using it to bring him closer.

“Why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you kiss me?” Johnny tilts his head to the side, bites on his lip.

Yeah, why the hell isn’t Taeyong kissing him? What a monumental waste of time. He dives right in, going for the entire thing with both hands threading into Johnny’s long, greasy hair, and pulls him down.

The kiss is deeper and faster this time around. Johnny’s hands slide up to Taeyong’s waist, give it a squeeze once he closes all and any sort of distance between them. Johnny is quite a few centimeters taller, so Taeyong needs to stand on his toes, which would normally be uncomfortable but he doesn’t really care. Not when Johnny’s lips are so soft, nipping on Taeyong’s in a kind, delicate way. 

When they part, there’s this silly, weird look on Johnny’s face. It makes Taeyong laugh.

“What’s with the face?” He asks, hiding his mouth behind his fist. 

“Nothing,” he says, blinking lazily at Taeyong. “I like kissing you.”

Taeyong giggles, feeling more like a schoolgirl than Jennie Crystal in their first date to the juice bar with their parents as chaperones. “I like kissing you too,” he eventually says.

 

Once, Taeyong’s mother took him to an antique shop. She was looking for this really expensive teapot dating back to the nineteenth century. It was all she’d been talking about for weeks ever since laying her eyes on the thing during a charity event. The point is: She brought Taeyong into this antique shop.

Not that he hated it. Neo Prep had quite a vast collection of antique artifacts, the school structure itself was something out of a history book. Besides that, they were always taking the students out on field trips to museums and other artistic endeavours. Taeyong was familiar with old stuff, and he’d dare to say he enjoyed learning about the pieces he saw. He liked that one goblet that was said to have belonged to a princess who died a premature death by falling off her favorite horse. He sometimes thinks about the pair of pointé shoes one prima ballerina wore on her first and last opening night (according to the museum guide, she died that night on a horrible unspecified accident). 

However, the day his mother brought him into that antique shop, Taeyong couldn’t find anything interesting about the piles and more piles of _old stuff_ on display. Maybe it was the fact that they weren’t there solely for appreciation. 

Now, Taeyong lies on his back on Johnny’s bed, staring intently at the bookcase filled with old stuff. Somehow he doesn’t get the same feeling he got from the antique shop, and it tugs at his curiosity.

“What’s with the all the old stuff?” Taeyong asks.

They’ve been lying for a bit. Johnny has Taeyong’s left hand in his, playing with his fingers. Their subject of conversation has jumped from one thing to another since they settled down, and after some time, silence fell over.

“We get those at the flea market,” Johnny says, eyes never leaving Taeyong’s hand.

“Why do you buy them?”

“I don’t know, why does anyone buy anything they don’t really need?” Johnny glances at him, a furtive smile on his face. “I needed some decoration for my room and thought they’d look nice.”

“You could have gotten anything else,” Taeyong shrugs. “You could have gotten football posters or something.”

Johnny snorts, “Do I look like a football fan?”

“You don’t look like an antique enthusiast either.”

“And why is that?” Johnny squints, dropping Taeyong’s hand and rolling on his side to properly face Taeyong. “Because I wear baggy pants and Toy Machine shirts?”

“Well… Yeah. Is it bad?”

“You’re only stereotyping me, but that’s fine.” This time, Johnny picks the thin gold chain around Taeyong’s neck to play with. “I like art. I’m thinking of making that my major.”

Feeling his eyebrows arch in surprise, Taeyong asks, “Really?”

Johnny hums. “Or photography. Something like that.”

“Not music? It seems to be your family business.”

“I dig it,” he contemplates. “Maybe not as a career. Who knows.”

Johnny sounds rather flippant about the rest of his life. Maybe he’s unsure, perhaps still considering his options. Not a concept Taeyong would know anything about, since in his household everyone knows exactly what they’re working with from the moment they’re born (hint: it’s business).

“You’re still considering,” he voices, eyes lowering to where Johnny’s fingers are hooked on his golden chain.

“Yes. There’s a lot of stuff I enjoy doing. I like curating items that no one would normally pay attention to, like that pair of rusty scissors over there. I also like photography and music as well.”

“How much did you pay for those?” 

“The scissors? A couple of cents. It’s old as hell, rusty even after I spent hours scrubbing and trying to get it functional.”

“Why did you get it, then? If it’s not functional.”

“Because, Taeyong,” Johnny boops his nose and Taeyong flinches, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in a smile. “It’s a thing we do around here. Repurposing old stuff? That pair of scissors used to belong to someone a long time ago. Maybe they never paid it any attention, maybe it was just another tool. Here, in my room, it’s a decoration piece.”

“It’s useless though,” Taeyong points out playfully, which ends with Johnny tickling his sides. He curls up in defense, wiggling in a weak attempt at escaping Johnny’s hands.

“So you’re here to tell me you don’t have useless stuff in your house?”

“That’s not what I said.” Taeyong’s shirt rolled up when Johnny tickled him, so he pulls it down. “There’s too much useless stuff. The only difference is that they’re more expensive.”

Johnny blinks at him. “Do you think they’re more valuable than my cheap scissors because of that?”

He doesn’t sound passive-aggressive, it’s a simple question. 

Come to think of it, both Johnny _and_ Taeyong’s mother had the same intention on their respective purchases. It wouldn’t make sense to condemn his mom for buying that vase and then acclaim Johnny for his pair of scissors.

“No,” Taeyong says at last. “I don’t think so.”

The party is still going on in the backyard, but Johnny doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back down there. It’s getting late, and soon enough Haeun will start paging Taeyong.

“What about you?” Johnny asks. In what can only be considered stealth, his fingers find Taeyong’s once more. “Do you know what your major will be?”

“Business, probably.” Taeyong observes as Johnny positions his palm against Taeyong’s, curling the top of his much larger fingers over Taeyong’s. “Not as bomb as photography.”

“You don’t sound very excited.”

Taeyong snorts, “That’s because I’m not.”

“Why do it, then?”

How can Taeyong explain his family dynamics to Johnny in a way that he’ll understand? Johnny has a pocketful of freedom while Taeyong is _kept_ in a pocket. He would bet all the money in his trust fund that Johnny’s parents have never forced anything on him.

“Um. I’m… Uh… It’s complicated.”

“How so?” Johnny watches him with soft, unwavering eyes. His hand is warm against Taeyong’s, and there’s a certain level of tranquility that washes over Taeyong when Johnny looks at him like that. 

Taking a deep breath, Taeyong says, “My parents expect some things from me. Some of them are basic, like being at the breakfast table every morning and acting nice in front of their guests whenever they have a party. Others… Require a little more… Patience, if you will. And understanding.”

“Like majoring in business?” Johnny asks. His thumb is now tracing mindless patterns over Taeyong’s wrist, and it’s so soothing it could possible lull Taeyong to sleep.

“Like majoring in business,” Taeyong confirms. “My dad is an investor. His company deals with a whole lot of stuff that I don’t completely understand. He wants me to work there.”

“And you don’t want to work there,” Johnny says. 

“No, I don’t.”

“But you’re still going to business school?”

“Probably.”

There’s a pause. Johnny halts and stares at Taeyong.

“Do you feel like you owe that to your father?”

That’s a new perspective. Does Taeyong feel like he owes something to his parents? Yes, he does. Maybe he does. Growing up, he was always told that the four of them needed to stick together, as a family. That Taeyong and Mark should always listen to their mom and dad, never do anything they thought their parents wouldn’t approve. After all, family is the most important thing in the world. They’ll be the only ones to have your back in a dire situation, no one will ever love you as much as your family does. So, naturally, when Taeyong’s father brought him to work one day when he was nine, had Taeyong sit on his chair and crouched in front of him, saying _’When you’re old enough, this chair will be yours’_ , Taeyong just let the meaning of that sink in. He got used to the thought of working in his father’s company, of being an investor. It didn’t matter that he happened to find something else he’d much rather do. His fate had already been set in stone.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “Something like that.”

It’s a horribly vague answer, but Johnny doesn’t press for details. He asks about something else, instead.

“Is that why you gave up on dancing?”

Surprisingly, Taeyong isn’t distraught by the question. His voice is quite stable when he responds, “Yes. They thought I shouldn’t waste my time with dance lessons after graduation. Before that, he told me to cut down my ballet hours and spend more time on debate club.”

“And that didn’t upset you?” He sounds kinda baffled. Like he can’t believe Taeyong wouldn’t be upset over something like that. 

Taeyong was very young when he understood getting upset over his parents’ decisions wasn’t worthwhile.

“I was disappointed. I really love dancing. But…” Taeyong scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I understand.”

Johnny’s got this tiny smile on his face, which has Taeyong’s stomach fluttering miserably.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I’m not going to judge you, Taeyong. In the end, it’s your decision.”

Funny he should say that. Taeyong’s never felt in control of his own life. Not even once. 

 

\--

 

The first thing Taeyong voluntarily says to Jung Jaehyun is: 

“There’s gum in your hair.”

They’re at the skatepark and night is beginning to fall. Everyone is talking about going out for food; Taeyong is standing relatively close to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun appears conflicted. He reaches for his hair and squints at Taeyong at the same time. 

He asks, “Why are you talking to me?”

Taeyong panics at first, unsure if he should just give up and never approach Jaehyun ever again or give him a straight answer. Jaehyun looks like a simple dude. He rides his skateboard, smokes his weed and naps by the grass. It doesn’t seem like his question is any sort of trap.

“Um. I just… You have gum in your hair,” Taeyong says uselessly.

Sending his fingers on a blind search, Jaehyun finds the place where a bright pink piece of chewing gum is stuck to his strands and curses, turning around to face Yuta. “Hey. Do you have scissors lying around?”

Yuta frowns, “Why the fuck would I have scissors, man?” His eyes bulge when he understands what’s going on. Yuta steps closer. “Is that _gum_? Did you lie down with your head on the ground again, Jae? We _told you_ several times to not do that.”

Jaehyun curses again, “Do you have scissors or not?”

“Of course I don’t, you fart-knocker.” Yuta looks at Taeyong. “Do you have any?”

“No,” Taeyong says. 

Yuta’s eyes linger on his face for a bit. Taeyong forces himself to hold eye contact until Yuta tires and gets back to Jaehyun. He pokes at the pink blob, hissing.

“Well, you just gotta live with it for a while longer.”

Finishing off with yet another curse (a big one this time), Jaehyun lets his arms fall to his sides, resigned. He looks up at Taeyong.

“So. Why did you talk to me?” He asks. “You usually just… Act like I’m not around.”

Then they’re both watching Taeyong expectantly, and Taeyong regrets not giving up and never approaching Jaehyun again. Now he’s got two people who he used to pretend didn’t exist confronting him about his sudden change in attitude. Awesome. Just. Awesome.

Well, the least he can do at this point in the ‘space-time continuum’ is be humble. And try to make amends.

“I am really sorry about that,” Taeyong says. 

Yuta folds his arms on his chest, “Are you trying to be nice because you’re shagging Johnny?”

Taeyong chokes on his own saliva. “I am not shagging Johnny!”

“You’re not?” Jaehyun inquires, an eyebrow lifted as he gives Taeyong a very pointed look, and Taeyong falters.

“Well, we-- There was _something_ , but we’re definitely not shagging!”

“So that’s not why you’re suddenly aware of our presence?” Jaehyun asks.

If he hadn’t met Johnny, Taeyong would have probably moved on with his life while despising the Rat Boys and everything they represent. So, technically, Johnny _had_ a role in Taeyong’s change of heart. It was mostly Ten and Doyoung, though.

“Things changed. I got to know _some of you_ better,” Taeyong says very carefully.

Yuta smirks, “So you two did shag then.”

“Yuta,” Ten says, positioning himself right next to Taeyong, a protective arm around Taeyong’s waist. “Stop terrorizing Taeyong.”

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Yuta says, “This is the first time he talks to us, I’m trying to get some answers before he decides he hates us again.”

That doesn’t seem right. Yet, Taeyong feels his cheeks warming up. He says, “I don’t hate you.” 

“But you did,” Yuta says pointedly, looking at Taeyong from his under his lashes.

“No. I just thought you were… Reckless.” And dangerous, but those two go together anyway. Taeyong doesn’t think like that anymore.

Jaehyun shrugs, “Fair. We are reckless.”

“But we’re not bad people,” Yuta says. “I’m happy to hear you’ve gotten over whatever was holding you back.”

Yuta speaks with such certainty and assurance; Taeyong is perplexed he’s never caught glimpse of the spark in his eyes -- the kind of spark that indicates he _knows stuff_. Maybe Taeyong is projecting now that he knows Yuta is a smart kid.

“He’s had some character development!” Ten chirps, pinching Taeyong’s cheek.

Taeyong winces, pushing him away. “Get off me!”

Ten steps aside, laughing at Taeyong while Kun, who quietly made his way over, brushes Ten’s hair away from his forehead. Ten gives him a bright smile and wraps an arm around _his_ waist instead.

“There’s a party this weekend. My house,” Jaehyun says, urging Taeyong’s attention back to their conversation. “You should come.”

Oh. A party. And they want Taeyong to come. That’s a serious development. One he shouldn’t take for granted, definitely.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says. “I will.”

Ten, who doesn’t seem content having only Kun in his grasp, reaches for Taeyong and plants a kiss on his cheek. He looks proud like Taeyong’s just done something right and deserves a reward for it. Scratching the just-kissed spot on his cheek, Taeyong averts his eyes.

Kun says to Jaehyun, “You’ve got gum on your hair.”

 

\--

 

Jaehyun’s house is a big one. Not as big and interesting as Johnny’s, but nice nonetheless. The party also doesn’t look as family-friendly as Johnny’s; this one has more of a rager feel -- teenagers making out in every corner, plastic cups scattered across the floor and loud, very loud music. Taeyong recognizes the _’you gotta keep ‘em separated’_ line from Johnny’s playlist; it’s one of his favorites. 

He navigates the crowd in Jaehyun’s house with care, looking out for anyone he might possibly know. Unfortunately, Taeyong was enlisted by Haeun to help put the groceries away, so he missed Ten and Doyoung’s ride. Which is why he finds himself completely alone in the middle of this rager. Well, not technically alone, but _alone_.

The first person he finds is Yuta. Not Taeyong’s first choice, but better than being engulfed by an ocean of unknown faces. Yuta is in the process of inspecting the contents of Jaehyun’s fridge, and he appears to be alone. Taeyong walks over, clearing his throat to announce himself before realizing the music is too loud and Yuta would never hear it. Taeyong taps his shoulder twice, and Yuta swirls around so fast it almost gives Taeyong vertigo.

“Wow,” he says. 

“Oh,” Yuta’s eyebrows arch. “It’s you.”

Taeyong smiles bashfully. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Hi.”

“Hello,” Taeyong coughs. “Where, uh, where are the others?”

Yuta smirks, “You mean Johnny?”

Yeah, he’s a menace. Taeyong makes a mental note to not trust Yuta with his life. They’ve exchanged literally three words and he’s already being teased.

Rolling his eyes, Taeyong says, “I mean everyone.”

“But also Johnny, right?”

“Yeah, also Johnny,” Taeyong resigns, sighing. “Do you know where they are?”

Giving Taeyong a very amused look, Yuta says, “Yeah I do. Wait a sec, I’ll take you there. Do you want anything to drink?” He looks back into the fridge and frowns. “I think Jaehyun locked most of the food in the pantry, which is concerning because he’s probably going to forget it all there and leave it to rot. But! He left a few drinks behind. Would you care for some Gatorade?”

Taeyong’s not thirsty but accepts the Gatorade anyways, and soon Yuta is bringing him upstairs. They stop in front of a door with a huge Beavis and Butthead sticker on. Yuta gives it three kicks and waits. Moments later, a frazzled-looking Jaehyun opens the door. There’s a fat blunt in his hand, so he might just be really high.

“‘Sup, b?” Yuta says, pointing his chin at Taeyong. “Found a lost kitten downstairs.”

Taeyong would protest against being called a lost kitten if his face remained impassive after the remark. But he knows he’s blushing, so instead of fighting Yuta (who’s quite intimidating, to be honest,) Taeyong just follows him into the room.

There’s no doubt that this is Jaehyun’s room, with all the skateboard posters and paraphernalia. It’s also messy enough to give Taeyong’s mom a nervous breakdown. There are empty pizza boxes on the floor and discarded clothes (are those Batman boxer briefs?) On the desk, by the window, there are several cans (empty, for sure) and also some poorly stacked papers. Taeyong wouldn’t be able to live in a place like this.

“Yo, yo, homie Joe!” Ten yells, rising to his feet in order to jog towards Taeyong and throw his arms around Taeyong’s neck. Taeyong nearly stumbles back with the force of Ten’s attack, but still hugs him back. “What took you so long?”

Ten reeks of alcohol. Taeyong snorts, “You’re already drunk?”

“He’s a lightweight, that one,” Kun says.

They’re all sitting on the floor. Doyoung and Sicheng are sitting back against the closet, a magazine propped on Sicheng’s lap. Yuta is now sitting next to Kun, handing him a bottle of Gatorade. Sitting a little far from everyone else, fiddling with a flashlight, is Johnny. He’s looking right at Taeyong and smiles once their eyes meet.

“Alright, Tennie, let’s sit down,” Taeyong says, bringing Ten back to where Kun already has an arm open to take him in. He adjusts Ten next to him with the type of care you’d only see in long-lasting couples. With a silly smile on his face, Kun wipes something off Ten’s cheek, rubbing his shoulder soothingly when Ten leans onto him. He looks absolutely head over heels.

Taeyong smiles to himself, pleased to know Ten’s infatuation is very much reciprocated, and pads over to where Johnny is sitting.

The moment Taeyong plops down next to him, Johnny positions the flashlight under his chin and turns it on, lighting his face eerily.

“Hello, Taeyong,” Johnny says in a spooky voice.

Taeyong elbows his ribs, causing him to flinch and turn the flashlight off. “Hi, Dingbat.”

Johnny hums appreciatively, “If I didn’t know that’s how you show you’re into me, I’d take serious offense.”

Taeyong snorts, refusing to acknowledge the tingling on his cheeks, “I didn’t even curse at you.”

“Thank you for that,” Johnny says, giving Taeyong a _look_. “How are you doing?”

It’s the second time Taeyong and Johnny meet after the get together at his place. The first was at the skatepark. Taeyong worried that things would be awkward between them, but it was actually the opposite. Taeyong arrived and Johnny greeted him with an arm around his neck, casual and mindless. No one acted like there was anything out of the ordinary, and it helped ease Taeyong’s nerves.

“Fine,” He says, trying to be subtle leaning a tad closer, his arm touching Johnny’s. “It’s my dad’s day off, but he went out super early and mom spent the whole day complaining. She took it out on Mark, who wanted to go out to meet his friends and ended up getting jailed home.”

“Mark is your brother?” Johnny asks. He takes Taeyong’s hand into his; it’s becoming kind of a habit. If they’re together, Johnny will take hold of Taeyong’s hand. He doesn’t do much, only touch Taeyong’s knuckles, brush his thumbs over Taeyong’s wrist, lace their fingers. Still, every time his fingers move, Taeyong shivers.

“Yeah,” he explains. It’s nearly impossible to ignore Johnny’s touch, so Taeyong doesn’t even try. He focuses on their joined hands, making sure to explore Johnny’s skin just as much. “He’s really obstinate. Mom has a hard time bending him to her will.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirteen,” Taeyong chuckles. “Acts like an adult sometimes, though.”

Johnny smiles, blinking at Taeyong with that level of fondness Taeyong is slowly getting used to. “You seem to really like him.”

“Of course I do. He’s my brother.”

“What else do you like?”

Taeyong turns to face him, taken aback. “Huh?”

“I’m trying to get to know you,” Johnny explains dutifully. “Tell me something you like.”

Taeyong doesn’t even have to think that hard. “Dancing.”

Johnny hums in understanding, nods. “When’s the last time you danced?”

Does Taeyong even remember? He has to force the memory back, pulling it out from an obscure corner in his mind. 

“A month before school ended?” Taeyong scratches the back of his head.

“You don’t dance by yourself?”

He used to do that a lot. But then his father sat him down one day and _suggested_ he stopped that altogether; then Taeyong resorted to clandestine dance sessions in his room. Even that is hard to arrange these days since he can’t seem to get away with it. It became really hard not to get caught in his house.

Taeyong sighs, looking down at their hands. “It’s… Not so easy in my house.”

When Taeyong meets Johnny’s eyes, they’re posing a silent question, urging Taeyong to go on with his story. Taeyong remains silent, so Johnny probably catches the hint, changing the subject.

“Ah. Are you drinking that Gatorade? I’d like to have some if that’s okay. My lips are kinda dry.”

He takes a look at Johnny’s plump, soft lips, and swallows thickly.

“I can fix that for you.”

Taeyong has no idea where that comes from. It slides from that obscure pit in his useless brain and rolls right off his tongue, he doesn’t give himself a chance to reconsider. Now Johnny is staring at him with eyes wider than saucers and a slack jaw. 

A sudden rush of courage takes over Taeyong, and he surges forward, tangling his fingers into Johnny’s hair as he pulls him down for a kiss.

It’s true, Johnny’s lips are chapped. Taeyong gently licks over them, coaxing his mouth open. Johnny makes an appreciative sound, something between a sigh and a _moan_ and goes lax, giving Taeyong full control of the kiss.

Taeyong registers something that sounds like a hoot, and then their friends are clapping and whistling. It’s not the first time they kiss in front of them, but it might be the first time Taeyong rises to his knees, positioning one of them between Johnny’s legs so he can kiss him deeper, lap at Johnny’s tongue. Johnny’s both hands grip at Taeyong’s waist, brushing back and forth on his sides. It makes Taeyong’s shirt pull up a little, and Johnny wastes no time in touching his bare skin. The contact makes Taeyong shudder and sigh into the kiss, allowing Johnny to tug him closer. 

They’re making out in front of their friends. Honestly, Taeyong is not even _bothered_. He just… He wants this. He wants to kiss Johnny and stroke the back of his neck, and sit down on Johnny’s thighs when his knees start to ache. It’s not like anything Taeyong’s ever wanted before, and he certainly doesn’t remember wanting anyone this much.

There’s some kind of force about Johnny. This gravitational pull that drags Taeyong in, locks him in place. The thought of simply making himself at home right here, in Johnny’s lap, doesn’t really surprise Taeyong at all.

The kiss grows fast and wet. Taeyong’s got both arms around Johnny’s neck and is putting all of himself into this when Johnny pinches his hip, leaning his head back onto the wall in order to break them apart.

His eyes are hazy, lips red from all the kissing and nipping (Taeyong likes to bite), and there’s this stunned look on his face as if Taeyong’s just sucked his soul outta his mouth.

Biting back a grin, Taeyong caresses the back of Johnny’s neck.

“What’s up?” He asks innocently.

“You-- I’m--” Johnny huffs, blinking his eyes back into focus. “Take it easy, Taeyong.”

Giggling, Taeyong presses a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s mouth. “Sorry. My ex-girlfriend used to call me a fervent kisser.”

Johnny arches his eyebrows and offers Taeyong a lazy smile, “She was not wrong. Were you… Did you kiss a lot of people?”

Taeyong hums thoughtfully, “Just Jennie.” No, wait. “And Ten.”

Johnny straightens so fast it almost sends Taeyong tumbling back. “What did you just say?”

“I said I kissed Ten once,” Taeyong repeats. He frowns. “Why?”

Groaning, Johnny knocks his head against the wall three times. “Fuck, that must have been a buzz hype.”

Taeyong mock gasps, punching Johnny’s shoulder, “Don’t be a creep!”

“Sorry,” Johnny squeezes Taeyong’s hips. “I just meant you’re both really hot.”

Taeyong squints at him. “Okay.”

“Yeah.”

A few seconds pass, then they’re giggling.

 

When they go downstairs, Jaehyun locks the room behind them. They were there for a long time, Taeyong is surprised the house doesn’t look like a tornado just passed by.

“Jungwoo kept an eye on things,” Johnny explains when Taeyong voices his thoughts. He’s holding Taeyong’s hand as they make their way downstairs, a firm and soothing grip. Taeyong was never _that_ into holding hands. Maybe it was Jennie Crystal’s hand, because he’s having a blast with Johnny.

“The singer from Horrible Band?”

Johnny snorts, “Don’t say that to his face. But yeah. He and Jaehyun used to go out, but Jae’s… Complicated. I think Jungwoo caught feelings.”

A couple of steps ahead Jaehyun stands next to Jungwoo, a hand on his shoulder. Jungwoo has actual stars in his eyes, while Jaehyun looks ready to bolt. There’s a strain to the edges of his face; like he’s clenching his jaw. Like he’s… Bracing himself.

“Are you sure Jaehyun doesn’t like him back?” Taeyong asks.

“Oh, we know Jae likes him back,” Johnny replies. “As I said, it’s complicated.”

Choosing not to dwell on that, Taeyong circles Johnny’s waist with his arm, leaning his cheek onto Johnny’s collarbone. Johnny’s hand caresses Taeyong’s back, thumb brushing over his neck.

“Are you sleepy?” Johnny asks, peering down at him.

“Not really.” He just likes nuzzling into Johnny.

“Did you drive here?” 

Taeyong nods. “Why, want a ride?”

“I was gonna crash here. We usually help Jae clean the next day. Do you want to stay?”

Crashing here sounds like a good idea. Technically, Taeyong’s got a curfew but it’s not like anyone but Haeun cares about it. Usually, she opens up a can on him the morning after. Taeyong could pretend he lost track of time, as usual, and sneak in before the sun rises.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ten comes over after a while yelling about Taeyong dancing with him. At first, Taeyong feels like refusing him, but then No Scrubs starts blasting from the speakers.

Dancing at parties is okay. Taeyong can do that. There’s no one around to rat him out; he can sway his hips back and forth and body roll to TLC. Not that Taeyong’s done a whole lot of that, the parties at Neo Prep were quite lame, to be honest, and after the first report of some kid spiking the punch, his mom stopped letting him attend house parties.

No Scrubs fades into Bust a Move, and Taeyong is lost to the beat.

 

“Hey, Taeyong,” Johnny says later when they’re lying side by side on the floor of Jaehyun’s bedroom. Johnny had a duvet rolled up to act as a pillow, and his own chest offered as Taeyong’s cushion. His arm is securely wrapped around Taeyong, a hand brushing back the messy strands of Taeyong’s hair. It’s comfortable, and nice, and so warm. 

“Yeah?”

“You should do it again.”

“What?”

“Dancing.”

Taeyong heaves a sigh, lets his lids fall closed. Johnny thumbs at his earlobe with utmost care, breath fanning across Taeyong’s forehead. It’s a deadly combo, making it harder and harder for Taeyong to remain awake.

“If it’s something you love no one should keep you away from it,” Johnny continues. 

Taeyong knows Johnny’s talking about something important, and he should try to keep up, maybe tell Johnny about how he doesn’t think he’d be good enough to make it as a dancer, that his best option is to just conform to his parents’ wishes. Taeyong should tell him everything. Not now, though. Maybe not ever. Now he’s too cozy to think.

 

\--

 

The smell of Haeun’s fresh bread catches Taeyong by the hand even before he makes it all the way downstairs. Mark is already sitting by the counter when Taeyong steps into the kitchen, his Gameboy forgotten on the counter as he chats with Haeun.

Both of them turn around to face Taeyong.

“I smell the good stuff,” he says, flicking Mark’s forehead just because he can. 

“Hey!” Mark protests, trying to kick Taeyong, who dodges just in time. 

Taeyong cackles deviously, accepting the plate of sliced-up bread Haeun passes over. “Where’s Mom?” He asks. Mark shrugs, still massaging his forehead. Taeyong snorts. “Stop being dramatic, I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“You know I bruise easy, you fart-knocker,” Mark mumbles. “I don’t know where Mom is, haven’t seen her since breakfast.”

“Aiight,” Taeyong says, heading back to the staircase.

Before he can climb the first step, Haeun reaches him. “Wait, Taeyongie,” she says. 

Taeyong turns around, feeling her attentive eyes settle over him. “Yeah?”

“If you eat all that bread you won’t have dinner later,” she says pointedly. Taeyong frowns.

“Don’t worry, I won’t eat more than I can handle,” He promises. 

Haeun opens her mouth to speak but then closes it, nodding at Taeyong. That’s weird. She looks hesitant. Haeun is not one to beat around the bush, she goes straight to the point.

“Is everything okay?” Taeyong asks.

“Is there anyone upstairs with you?”

She might as well have accused Taeyong of breaking his father’s expensive inkwell and getting black ink all over his documents that one time. He blamed it on a stray lizard, but Taeyong’s been living in fear this whole time, terrified that someone will uncover the truth some day. 

“N-no,” Taeyong stammers, clearing his throat. “No, I’m alone.”

Haeun takes her time inspecting his face, raises an eyebrow. Then gives him a curt nod.

“We don’t know what time your mother will be back home. So make sure you come downstairs soon, okay?” _Don’t let yourself get caught_ , is in the fine print.

Taeyong swallows, pretending like he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Okay,” he says and turns around to keep climbing the stairs. 

Fuck. Haeun could have been a ninja if she weren’t a housekeeper. How did she even figure it out? This is only further evidence that Taeyong must work on his stealth skills. He can’t have Haeun breathing on his neck every time he tries to--

He’s barely _inside_ his room when he’s positively tackled, the plate snatched from his hand and his back pressed onto the closed door.

“Wha--!” He wheezes as Johnny pins him against the door, nosing along his cheek. “What are you doing, _the bread_!”

“Don’t worry, I took care of it,” Johnny says. Taeyong has no idea what happened to the bread, but even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Not when Johnny has his hands on Taeyong’s stomach, sneaking them underneath his shirt. “I’ve missed you.”

“I was downstairs for literally two minutes,” Taeyong says, sucking in a breath when Johnny kisses down his jaw. His hand finds its way to Johnny’s chest, lightly gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

“Two miserable minutes,” Johnny whispers, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Taeyong’s throat. His thumb tugs at the corner of Taeyong’s mouth while he trails up kisses from Taeyong’s collarbones to his face. It’s hot and it gets Taeyong all worked up. He runs his nails down Johnny’s chest over the shirt as Johnny gently bites his chin. “You smell so good,” Johnny says, dragging his teeth on Taeyong’s lower lip. “God, you drive me crazy.”

Not giving him any room for response, Johnny licks into Taeyong’s mouth. He’s lucky for the arms Johnny’s got around him. Otherwise, Taeyong would have melted into the floor.

Something changed in the way Johnny kisses him. It’s almost as if he’s read a manual; like he knows exactly how to curl his tongue in order to make Taeyong quiver. Johnny pulls his hair back, deepening the kiss when Taeyong’s jaw slacks. Taeyong hums into the kiss, nearly yelping when he’s all of a sudden lifted completely off the ground.

“Johnny,” he gasps as Johnny carries him the short distance from the door to the bed, effectively letting Taeyong’s back hit the mattress. The plate with the bread slices sits on the bedside table, Taeyong notices uselessly. 

He’s got a second to appreciate Johnny’s marvelous form before he lowers himself, propping his forearms on each side of Taeyong’s head.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Johnny asks, rubbing his nose on Taeyong’s, kissing his mouth once, twice.

“You’re gorgeous,” Taeyong says. “I like looking at you.”

Johnny chuckles, breathy and low. “I like looking at you too,” he says, pushing Taeyong’s hair back. “But I like kissing you better.”

And kiss they do. For a long time. Johnny commits some of that time to suck at Taeyong’s throat, having Taeyong’s breath come out ragged. At some point, his mouth finds Taeyong’s stomach and a new kind of warmth rushes down Taeyong’s body. 

It’s consuming, the way Taeyong feels, but also a bit scary. That’s uncharted territory, and he’s not sure he’s ready to face it all.

“Hey,” he says, cupping Johnny’s face in order to direct his gaze back up. “We should take it easy.”

Johnny halts; blinks at Taeyong. “Of course. We don’t have to do anything.” He gathers himself, kneeling on the bed. There’s an obvious tent in Johnny’s pants. Taeyong looks away, feeling the telltale signs of a blush creeping on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” Taeyong says, sitting up. They clearly need to put themselves back together. Taeyong glances at the forgotten plate on the bedside table, and asks, “Want some bread?”

Johnny, ever so kind, smiles, and nods.

 

As he munches on a slice of bread, Johnny browses through one of Taeyong’s new magazines. They’re still in bed, only now they’re sitting, Taeyong’s back to the headboard and Johnny leaning onto his chest. It’s nice holding him like this, Taeyong enjoys placing his chin on top of Johnny’s head. To his pleasant surprise, Johnny’s hair isn’t as stinky as it looks, despite its usual oily aspect.

“Did you know that Microsoft is on its way to become the world’s most valuable company?” Johnny asks absently. 

“Cool,” Taeyong says. “Are there any news on the Hale-Bopp Comet?”

“None,” Johnny says, sighing. “There’s nothing worth reading besides that spread about Kylie Minogue.” Pushing the magazine aside, Johnny twists around, kneeling in between Taeyong’s open legs. “We’re wasting precious making out time.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, huffing when Johnny _pouts_. “Stop being dramatic.”

“But I want to kiss you!”

“We’ve been kissing all day! My lips are kinda sore from all the kissing!”

“That’s not even a thing!”

“Of course it is! Especially when you _bite_.”

Johnny gasps, “You’ve got no right when you’re literally a piranha!”

Taeyong bursts into laughter, “What did you call me?!”

“Come on, just one kiss?” Johnny groans. “I promise I won’t get too excited.”

“I don’t think that’s up to you, home skillet,” Taeyong smirks, shaking some hair off his forehead. Johnny pouts again, forcing Taeyong to comply. He places a hand on the back of Johnny’s neck and says, “Come here.”

It's a gentle, warm one. There’s no rush, just their mouths meeting softly, so tender. Johnny melts into Taeyong’s kiss, humming. He seems to love being kissed, not one to fight for control. Their mouths part and Taeyong leans back to look at Johnny -- whose eyes are still closed, basking in the after-feel of their kiss.

Chuckling silently, Taeyong brushes his thumb over Johnny’s cheekbone. His eyes open with a flutter of lashes, and Taeyong feels his breath being snatched away.

“Happy?” He asks. 

Johnny smiles, nuzzling Taeyong’s hand. “Happy.”

He’s about to return to his previous position against Taeyong’s chest when something happens.

It’s a sound, a very distinct one at that, coming from outside. Taeyong’s eyes widen in horror, and Johnny picks up.

“What’s wrong?”

Heels. High heels coming up the stairs.

“Mom. My mom is coming.”

Panic rises tenfold when the sound doesn’t fade as it would if she was walking to her bedroom on the opposite side of the hallway. She’s making her way to Taeyong and Mark’s side. And the clack of high heels on the wooden floor keeps getting louder, which means she hasn’t stopped at Mark’s door. She’s coming for Taeyong’s.

“Fuck, you gotta hide,” he scrambles off the bed, pulling Johnny along.

“What, Taeyong--”

“Go into the bathroom, quick!”

There’s no time for the pang of guilt that hits Taeyong’s chest when he pushes Johnny in his bathroom. Johnny’s got this utterly confused face, mouth moving like he’s meaning to talk, maybe ask Taeyong what the fuck is going on. He’ll have to wait for an explanation. Taeyong mouths a quick apology before closing the bathroom door, the dejected look on Johnny’s eyes the last thing he sees before it slams shut.

Taeyong barely makes it back in bed when his mother comes in, dressed in high couture and smelling like Chopard Wish.

She takes Taeyong in all of his frazzled glory, sprawled atop messy sheets, a magazine fallen on the floor.

“Are you busy?” She asks, eyebrows arched high. It’s clearly a rhetorical question. It doesn’t matter if Taeyong is busy.

“Hello,” Taeyong says, coughing to conceal the breathlessness that came with the words.

“Dinner is to be served in ten minutes,” her voice is clipped, and it has Taeyong’s stomach clenching unpleasantly. “We expect you to be ready.”

“I will be,” Taeyong assures.

His mother hums, “Have you met with Doyoung and Ten today?”

“No. I spent the day home.”

Pause as she blinks at him. “Alright. Ten minutes.”

Without waiting for an answer, Taeyong’s mother exits the room, the clack of her high heels following her out. She never closes the door when she leaves, so Taeyong is quick to do it, sighing in relief once he’s alone. 

She was here for less than a minute, and for no apparent reason. It’s usually Mark or Haeun who are sent to fetch Taeyong for dinner, his mother coming herself is completely out of the ordinary. Which means there’s a reason she was here; Taeyong dreads whatever that reason was, and decides he doesn’t want to think about it right now. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to dwell on it.

The bathroom door opens with a slow, tentative squeak to reveal an impassive Johnny. The confusion is gone from his face, replaced by a stoic countenance. He walks out of the bathroom, hands firmly stuck into his pockets.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks, eyes on Taeyong’s face. The words are flat, a tone that’s quite foreign on him.

Taeyong swallows, “Yeah.”

Johnny nods, walking further into the bedroom. He takes a seat on Taeyong’s bed, back towards the door. Taeyong circles the bed, coming to a stop in front of him.

“I wondered why we spent the entire day in here,” Johnny says, voice weak, almost a whisper. “But now I guess it makes sense.”

Silence falls, and Taeyong presses his eyes shut, allowing that pang of guilt to fully hit him this time. Taeyong understands how it might look. How Johnny might be perceiving the whole situation. It makes Taeyong sick to his stomach because that’s not how he feels. He doesn’t… He isn’t ashamed of Johnny. He might have held a certain degree of prejudice due to misinformation, but he knows better. Taeyong likes Johnny. He likes all of Johnny, every single part of him -- even the ones people like his parents would deem inappropriate.

Like he’s sensing Taeyong’s inner conflict, Johnny says, “Hey. It’s okay, Taeyong. You don’t have to tell your parents about me.”

So nice. Johnny is so fucking nice. Does Taeyong deserve that? 

“Do they know about _you_?” Asks Johnny, glancing up at him.

“I don’t know. I’ve only had one girlfriend and we don’t talk much, so…” Taeyong shrugs, lowering his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a moment, a couple seconds of silence. The air grows a bit thicker, and heat tickles the back of Taeyong’s neck.

Johnny touches his fingers, holds them loosely.

“Yeah. That’s fine. Just-- Next time, give me a heads up if I’m here undercover.”

“Got it.” That’s the least Taeyong owes him. 

Giving Taeyong’s fingers a light squeeze, Johnny says, “I should go.”

Frowning, Taeyong inquires, “Already?”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighs, giving Taeyong a tiny smile. “You know what they say. Fool your mother twice…”

Taeyong smiles, coming closer. Johnny’s hands slide over his hips as Taeyong pushes (greasy) hair back, tugging his face up so their eyes can meet. “I really liked being with you today.”

“Me too,” Johnny responds, leaning his forehead onto Taeyong’s stomach. It tickles, but Taeyong doesn’t move. He simply scratches the back of Johnny’s head, gentle and soothing.

“I’m really sorry about… You know.”

“I told you it’s fine.”

Maybe Taeyong will need a day to feel like it really is fine. Perhaps Johnny will need a day, too.

“Will you give me a kiss?” Taeyong asks because he’s weak and in need of reassurance.

“As many as you want,” Johnny smiles, arms pulling Taeyong in. 

Placing a knee on the bed between Johnny’s legs, Taeyong entwines his fingers on the back of Johnny’s neck. His stomach clenches with the touch of Johnny’s lips. Johnny kisses like he wants to relieve Taeyong of his doubts; like he’s trying to give Taeyong that sense of security. Even though he should not be the one offering reassurance right now. 

It feels like a pledge. 

 

Taeyong manages to sneak Johnny out through the back door. They part with another brief kiss. 

At the dinner table, his father is absent. Something work related, Taeyong is sure. Mark looks bored, playing with his food, and Taeyong is too tense to try and make conversation. Soon he finds out he didn’t have to worry about making conversation. His mother’s got it covered.

She asks, “Have you met anyone lately, Taeyong? Any new friends?”

Taeyong’s blood runs cold, and the hairs on his neck stick up. He can feel Mark’s eyes on him, the fork that was swirling food now still in his hand. 

“New… Friends?” Taeyong asks just for good measure. And because he’s an idiot.

“Yes,” she says, looking up from her plate to fix Taeyong with a _stare_. “New friends. Have you made any?”

“No,” Taeyong responds promptly. His voice is a bit shaky, she’ll be able to see right through him.

Humming thoughtfully, his mother asks, “What about the boys from the skatepark?”

Deep down, Taeyong already knew. There was no other reason for her to have gone into his room (and without knocking!) Taeyong wants to ask how the fuck she knows about that, even though it would be pointless. The skatepark is a huge open area. Anyone could have walked by and spotted Taeyong there hanging out with stoner kids.

“W-what about them?”

“You said you haven’t met anyone new, but you’ve been hanging out with new people. I’m confused, is all.”

Taeyong doesn’t know what to say. Should he lie and say he’s got absolutely nothing to do with the Rat Boys? Should he come up with something ludicrous, tell her he’s been going there in order to learn how to ride skateboards? Not even Mark would believe that.

“You’re surprised,” She says, amusement in her voice. “As if I wouldn’t know what’s going on in your lives. I’m your mother. I know everything.”

Somehow, her words spark defiance in Taeyong. She knows _shit_.

He looks up audaciously, “How can you possibly know everything if you spend a total of ten minutes of your day in our presence?”

She was clearly not expecting that. Carefully placing her fork down, she dabs at the corner of her mouth with a pristine white napkin. “What did you say? I’m not sure I heard you.”

He could back down, she’s giving him a chance. 

“I said,” Taeyong says sharply. “You spend more time at the country club than here.”

“And what are you implying, Taeyong? That I’m a bad mother?”

Taeyong wants to say yes. “You don’t know everything.”

She watches him for a second, examining. Taeyong hopes that his heart isn’t beating as loud as it feels, hammering on his chest.

“The boy you had upstairs, what’s his name?”

Taeyong sucks in a breath, hands shaking on the table. 

“Don’t even think about lying, I saw him leaving through the back door.” Leaning a bit forward, she says, “Is he one of those skatepark boys? Tell me, are they the reason Ten’s got this mad idea of skipping to KYC in the Fall?”

 _Fuck_. If she knows, Ten’s mother knows. Now everything makes a lot more sense. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Is Ten okay? Taeyong should call him. He should go over there, maybe ask if he needs anything. Something must have happened. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s a weak attempt, she’d never buy it. Taeyong has nothing else to say.

“So you mean to tell me you didn’t know about it.” His mother scratches her chin with a long, manicured nail. “You should know better than to take me for a fool.”

A long moment passes in which Taeyong tries to hold eye contact with his mother, another weak attempt, but fails. He looks down at his nearly untouched dinner. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want,” she says. The distinct noise of silver meeting glass interrupts her for a second. “I want you to tell me you are not going to be as stupid as your friend and throw everything away after working so hard.”

 _What_? What would he be throwing away? What has he worked so hard for? A good GPA? Fucking debate club? They were very clear about Taeyong not being able to have the one thing he actually wanted. 

The thing is that she doesn’t _get it_. She doesn’t understand why Ten is doing what he’s doing. Wealth was everything she’s ever wanted, and she got it. 

“He doesn’t want to be an architect,” Taeyong says. He knows his voice is shaky and kinda breathy, but he doesn’t care. This is unfair, she’s being unfair. As per usual.

With a huff, Taeyong’s mother tosses her napkin on the table. “Whatever Ten means to do with his life is a matter for Sarah to deal with in her own household. Here, in _my_ house, we’re going to talk about you.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Taeyong looks up, another wave of anger washing over him. It only bubbles over once he takes in the breezy, almost bored look in his mother’s face. “How the few times you actually bother to talk to me or Mark are to tell us what to do and how to act?”

Mark shifts in his seat, coughing.

“I don’t think you care about what we do if we’re not doing anything to embarrass you. Am I right, Mother?”

Her eyes glint with a new type of emotion. Could it be contempt? Rage? Will she pop a vein at the dinner table? No, that’s unlikely.

“You will lower your voice,” she says menacingly. “I have taken enough of this tone of yours.” 

Then, to Taeyong’s utter surprise, her shoulders sag, her brow creases and she looks _worried_. Even the way she clenches her fist on the table, thumb playing with the ring on her index finger. It’s a habit Taeyong recalls from when he was much younger and used to spend a lot of time around her, at the country club or his grandparents' house. She used to do that a lot when Taeyong’s father spent that month away and they thought he wouldn’t come back.

“What’s going on with you?” She asks, the downturn of her mouth making her pretty face turn sour. “Do you even realize how you’re acting, Taeyong? How you’re talking to me?”

Shame runs over the anger in Taeyong’s chest, and he downcasts his gaze, unable to bear the disappointment in his mother’s eyes. That part of himself who’s been a model child his whole life berates him for arguing with her; he shouldn’t, she’s his mother. She’s only looking for what’s best for him. She’d never want to hurt him.

Yet, Taeyong _feels_ hurt. He’s been hurt quite a few times. She’s doing it again right now, and the fact that she doesn’t seem to notice makes it hurt even more.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His eyes are getting kind of watery. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

“You’ve always been very conscientious, Taeyong,” she says. Both of her hands now rest on her lap. “I’m sure this... Behavior derives from your new company.”

Alarmed, Taeyong looks up. He exclaims, “No, it’s not!”

“How do you explain, then, this sudden burst of misconduct? Funny, it began this Summer. Coincidentally the period you started meeting up with those boys at the skatepark. Boys we know nothing about. What were you thinking when you brought a _stranger_ to our house?”

Yes, something changed this Summer. It wasn’t misconduct, though. Taeyong doesn’t feel like he’s doing anything wrong. Is it wrong that he’s having a good time around people his age? What is so bad about Johnny and the others? There’s irony in the fact that a few months ago Taeyong would have agreed to everything she’s claiming. He wouldn’t have been able to understand the flaws in that line of thought.

It’s different now.

“He’s not a stranger,” Taeyong says. Somehow, it’s upsetting that she’d refer to Johnny as a stranger. To _her_ , he might be. To Taeyong… He’s… Something else entirely.

His throat feels a bit tight and his lashes kind of wet. He blinks back the tears, refusing to let them fall. 

Taeyong watches the precise moment that understanding falls upon his mother. Her eyes widen just slightly, eyebrows arching high.

“Do you… Perhaps… Have a relationship with this boy?”

His silence must be telling. Next thing she’s exhaling and muttering something along the lines of _’For crying out loud!’_ under her breath.

“Do you not see the problem with this?” She questions.

“Would it even be a problem if this was happening with someone like Ten, or Doyoung?” Taeyong asks, sniffing. 

“I _know_ Ten and Doyoung. I’ve known their families before any of you were born,” she says firmly, pinning Taeyong in place with a stare. “How do you expect me to react to my son going around town with a bunch of pothead stoner kids all Summer? You’ve been getting home late, spending nights out, doing God knows what when we’re not around.”

It sounds bad, Taeyong knows it does. But he’s not doing anything wrong! He opens his mouth to tell her, but she beats him to it.

“You sneaking this boy in itself says a lot, doesn’t it?”

Taeyong wants to disagree, he wants to fight her on that. She would have looked down on Johnny, Taeyong is pretty sure. She looks down on anyone who doesn’t attend her country club or those stupid neighborhood functions. The moment Taeyong heard her footsteps, he was swallowed by this instinct to protect, to shield Johnny from that kind of criticism and judgment. He knows his mother can be ruthless. Johnny didn’t deserve that.

He doesn’t tell her any of that. Taeyong knows he wouldn’t have hidden a high society kid away from her. He wouldn’t have felt the need to conceal the fact that he’s been hanging out with new people if they were rich heirs and preppy kids. He wouldn’t because deep down, Taeyong still wants her to be proud of him. He still wants her to brag about him to her friends; Taeyong is stupid enough to want her to smile at him when she thinks he’s being good. He knows a rich heir would have checked all her boxes, while Johnny certainly wouldn’t.

And Taeyong, who is really selfish, wants both.

He wants Johnny; the thrill of falling in love, of wanting to be with someone twenty-four-seven. He also wants his mother’s approval; the shine in her eyes when she tells other people about his achievements like there isn’t anyone or anything as precious as him.

It seems like Taeyong can’t have both. 

One of those pesky tears falls, and he swallows. “Can I be excused?”

Taeyong’s eyes are on the table, but he can still picture the look on her face when she says, “We’re not done yet.”

“Mom…” Mark pleads. Another tear rolls down Taeyong’s face.

With a loud, heavy sigh, his mother acquiesces, “Yes, Taeyong. You are excused.”

It takes him three seconds to run from the dining room to his bedroom, and one to fall apart.

 

When his eyes sting and his jaw starts aching, Taeyong lifts his head from the pillow and rubs a fist on his eyes. There’s no point in lying here letting all these bad feelings consume him. Swallowing back the remaining tears, Taeyong hops off the bed and walks to the desk where his pager rests. He checks the device, frowning at the number of beeps he got. They’re all from Doyoung.

Taeyong calls him back immediately.

“Where have you been?” Doyoung hisses in response to Taeyong’s ‘hello’. “Ten ran away.”

“What?” Taeyong asks. His confusion vanishes once the conversation with his mom comes back. Ten’s parents know about KYC, and possibly Kun as well. “Fuck, is he okay?”

“Of course he’s not okay, Taeyong! His father said he’ll cut him off if he decides to attend KC Dance Academy. He expected that would be the case, but it’s still a buzz kill.”

Shit. “Where is he right now, do you know?”

“He’s with Kun. I’m on my way there. Couldn’t go sooner because my parents spent like two hours interrogating me.”

“How did they even find out?”

“Apparently, it was Father Nelson. I mean, he told our folks about it, but someone else came to him. I bet it was one of those gossipy church ladies who think they’ve got a say in everyone’s lives.”

Fuck. Father Nelson. “Can that man quit icing our grill, like… Come on!”

“The person who went to him is worse, don’t you think? What kind of shady bullshit is this? By the way, are you okay? My mom implied something about you during her speech.”

Taeyong’s stomach clenches, and he bites on his nail. “What did she say?”

“That she hopes you’re not on the same path. Or something like that. Do they… Do your parents know about Johnny?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “My mom does.” Nothing guarantees that his father will remain in the dark. Although Taeyong is not worried about him; not when all he’s always cared about is his work. 

“Shit. Was it tough?”

She only led Taeyong to the realization that he ought to make a choice sooner rather than later. That thought alone freaks him out more than the disappointment in his mother’s eyes.

“I guess you could say that, yeah,” Taeyong chuckles half-heartedly. 

Doyoung pauses. “I’m sorry, Taeyong.”

Taeyong hums, asking, “You said you’re coming to meet Ten?”

“Uh… Yeah. I’m about to leave. You want a ride?”

It would probably be ill advised to leave the house after the episode downstairs with his mother. The first thing she’d assume is that Taeyong went out to meet with skatepark boy aka Johnny.

What is he going to be here for? Dwell on his past and future choices and feel like the worst son on this earth? He could be doing better with his time.

“Yeah, pick me up.”

 

\--

 

Kun has an arm securely wrapped around Ten. His shoulder acts as Ten’s pillow, and his other hand cards softly through Ten’s hair. Ten, whose body still gives the occasional shake long after his crying has ceased, clings to Kun like a lifeline.

Doyoung is unbagging the takeout they’ve brought, so Kun’s mother walks back into the living room, a cup of steaming hot tea in hand. She looks young. Younger than Taeyong’s own mother, that’s for sure. And, apparently, much nicer. 

“Here, sweetie,” she places it on the coffee table, stepping back to find a seat at an armchair. “Be careful, it’s really hot.”

Ten sniffs and Kun’s arm tightens around him. In a weak voice, he says, “Thank you,” but never reaches for the mug.

Kun’s mother -- Ziyi, as she demands to be called --, leans back and folds her hands on her lap. She gives Ten a very warm, motherly look.

“I got the spare mattress ready for you in Kun’s bedroom,” she says. “Whenever you want to rest.”

Kun smiles at her in gratitude and she winks. Her eyes fall back on Ten, though, concerned.

“I want you to know you’re safe here,” Ziyi says. That actually catches Ten’s attention. He looks up, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I think you should tell your parents where you are.”

The reaction her words have on Ten is immediate. He curls up against Kun, pressing his face into Kun’s neck.

“I know you want to be away from them right now, I understand,” Ziyi continues. “And I’m glad you came here instead of some other place. But your parents must be worried. Your pager has been going off since the moment you walked in. You don’t have to tell them the address, just say you’re safe. That’s all they need to hear.”

“Sounds like a good idea, Ten,” Taeyong says carefully.

“I can call them if you want,” Doyoung offers as he comes closer.

Ten lifts his head to give Doyoung a proper look. “I don’t care. Just don’t wanna talk to them.” He burrows back into Kun, sniffing again.

Ziyi gives Doyoung a nod, mouthing, “Call them, please.”

Doyoung nods and walks away, probably going for his mobile phone. He’s the only one in possession of one and makes sure to only use it for emergencies. Most times, Doyoung doesn’t even carry it with him, which kinda defeats the purpose of a mobile phone altogether in Taeyong’s opinion. 

“Alright, I’m going to leave you boys alone,” Ziyi says, getting up from her chair. “If you need me, I’ll be in the room.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong says.

Ziyi winks at him the same way she did Kun, and Taeyong wonders if it’s a habit. It makes her look super cool, though. Taeyong smiles, watching Ziyi retreat to the bedroom.

Not much longer, Ten announces, “I think I want to sleep.”

“Yeah?” Kun peers down at him, squeezing his arm. “Okay, I’ll come with.”

“No, you don’t need to,” Ten says, pulling away from Kun. His hand remains on Kun’s chest, and the way he looks into Kun’s eyes makes Taeyong feel like he’s intruding on something very private. “Thank you.”

Kun doesn’t say anything, just touches his thumb to Ten’s chin very briefly and leans forward for a kiss. It’s chaste and quick, but Taeyong doesn’t miss the way Ten’s shoulders sag in relief. 

When Ten walks past him, Taeyong playfully pats his bum, getting a humourless chuckle in response. 

It’s only Taeyong and Kun in the living room, which works to remind Taeyong that he’s never been alone with Kun before. They’ve talked, albeit not at length, but have never been by themselves.

Kun is the one who breaks the silence, “I’m glad he’s finally getting some rest.”

He’s still looking after Ten, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“Hey,” Taeyong calls, making Kun face him. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Kun smiles, lowering his gaze. There’s a tinge of pink on his cheeks -- kind of adorable. “You don’t have to thank me for something like that.”

Taeyong nods. “Your mom is super cool.”

“Yeah, she is,” Kun perks up, eyebrows arching and smile growing wide. “She loves Ten.”

“Has he been around much?”

“A bit,” Kun says. Then, he frowns and asks, “Are you okay? From what Ten said it wasn’t just him. Like… You and Doyoung got grilled as well.”

Sighing, Taeyong scratches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I’m fine. Ten probably got it worse.”

Kun watches him for a beat. “Did they… Would they have a problem with Johnny?”

Taeyong shifts uncomfortably on his seat, clearing his throat while he figures out what to say. Kun is Johnny’s friend, he can’t exactly tell him everything that went on. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kun hurries, waving his hands. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just asked because… Well, Johnny’s a chill guy, but he gets crunk about stuff sometimes. He’s a giver, you know. People can take advantage of that.”

Taeyong frowns. Did anyone take advantage of Johnny? Is Kun asking because they’ve seen it happen before? It didn’t take long for Taeyong to realize Johnny was that type of person, but he never thought about the possibility of someone breaking his heart over it. Taeyong’s heart tightens, and he feels horribly shameful about the events of earlier this evening. Taeyong meant no harm at all, he just acted on pure instinct. But… He might not have been fair.

It was a shitty move, having Johnny hide, he knows it was. Taeyong would never have shoved Doyoung or Ten in a bathroom. Although neither Doyoung nor Ten would have had to deal with Taeyong’s mother’s judging eyes, he wouldn’t have done it. 

Yet, Taeyong felt that he had to conceal Johnny from her.

When Johnny brought Taeyong into his home and introduced him to his parents with a huge grin on his face. Fuck. Taeyong is such a screw-up. He doesn’t want to be one of those people, he doesn’t want to take and take and give Johnny nothing back.

Kun is still looking at him expectantly like he wants Taeyong to guarantee he’s not going to take any advantage of Johnny.

Instead, Taeyong springs to his feet and mutters, “I gotta check my pager,” rushing off to the kitchen.

Doyoung is there on a phone call. He arches his eyebrows at Taeyong in question, but goes back to the conversation once Taeyong shakes his head. Judging by the voice he’s using, Doyoung is not talking to his parents. Taeyong tunes him out, pulling his pager from the pockets of his pants. Someone has beeped him fifteen times from his home number. Taeyong’s stomach clenches at the prospect of calling his mother back.

In his head, a voice that sounds a lot like Ziyi’s convinces Taeyong to call back.

He touches Doyoung’s shoulder, “Hey, can I use your phone real quick?”

Doyoung blinks at him, speaking into the phone, “Sorry Sicheng, I’ll talk to you later. Yeah, see you tomorrow.” He hangs up and hands the device over to Taeyong. “Is everything okay?”

“Gotta call back,” Taeyong shakes the pager in the air. “Did you talk to his parents?”

“Asked my mom to tell them,” he answers. “Figured it would put them at ease.”

That was a good call. Doyoung is usually able to be reasonable amid chaos, Taeyong’s always admired that about him.

“Sweet,” Taeyong says. “I’ll give this back to you in a bit.”

Nodding, Doyoung exits the kitchen.

Mark is the one who answers the phone -- on the first ring -- when Taeyong calls. He sounds quite distressed, a bit out of breath. 

“I called you a thousand times!” Taeyong’s brother whispers. “It’s almost midnight, mom wants you back home now.”

Sighing, Taeyong massages his temples. “Tell her I’ll be with my friends. It’s Doyoung and Ten, she knows them. It won’t be a problem.”

“Hyung…”

“It’s okay, Mark. I’m okay. Tell her I’ll be home eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“When I feel like they don’t need me anymore.”

There’s a pause.

Taeyong says, “Okay. Bye, Mark.”

“Wait wait wait!” Mark exclaims urgently. “What do I tell her?”

“Exactly what I said. That I’ll be home when I feel like.”

“She’s going to go postal, you know that, right?”

That’s not any different from earlier this evening. Taeyong will take his chances.

“Yeah. I do. Bye, Mark.”

“Bye,” Mark says reluctantly. “Take care.”

Taeyong ends the call, walking back into the living room to find Doyoung and Kun laughing at something on TV. They both look up at Taeyong when he approaches.

“Thanks,” Taeyong gives the mobile back to Doyoung and flops down on the armchair.

“So?” Doyoung inquires. “Everything okay?”

“Copacetic,” Taeyong says. 

He goes back home with Doyoung later that night. As they lie in Doyoung’s bed, the room dimly lit by the lava lamp on the bedside table, Taeyong realizes how tense his muscles were. They relax almost instantly when he lets his back hit the mattress.

It was a long day. Taeyong doesn’t get the chance to remove his shoes before sleep takes over.

 

\--

 

Mornings at Doyoung’s house are always fast-paced. Gina bursts into the bedroom and draws the curtains open, yelling about the sun already being up. Not five minutes later a maid comes in for the laundry hamper, then another vacuums the carpet, then _another_ claps her hands really loudly, issuing Doyoung one last warning. 

Doyoung’s always been the richer one amongst them, so the number of maids and appliances and _stuff_ , in general, is larger in his house. Ten and Taeyong used to have a lot of fun at sleepovers here, especially because the breakfast -- the _breakfast_ \-- could rival any five stars hotel out there.

After the last maid urges them out of bed, Taeyong borrows some clothes from Doyoung and takes a shower. When the two of them finally make their way downstairs for breakfast -- breakfast!!! -- Gina mutters about the food having gone cold.

Doyoung’s mother is coming out of the dining room as they come in. She looks surprised to see Taeyong.

Mrs. Kim is a really regal, elegant woman. Her long neck is always adorned with pearls, and her short hair always styled to perfection. Today she’s wearing a beige pantsuit that looks very basic (it was probably super expensive), a notebook in her hands. She’s clearly ready to go.

“Oh, Taeyong,” she says. “I had no idea you were here. Your mother called me last night unsure of your whereabouts. If I had known…”

“We got home pretty late, mom,” Doyoung says, quickly placing a kiss on her cheek before taking a seat.

“Hello Mrs. Kim,” Taeyong says, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry I showed up unannounced.”

She waves a hand at Taeyong, “That’s not the issue, honey. Hyeri sounded very distressed over the phone. Does she know you’re here?”

“She knows I’m with Doyoung.” Well, if Mark told her, that is. 

Mrs. Kim blinks at Taeyong. “Right. Okay, well, unfortunately, I won’t be able to join you boys for breakfast. There’s an important matter regarding the fundraiser to be taken care of.” She looks down at her son, already digging into a fresh-looking bagel. “Doyoung, don’t forget about the packages, hm?”

Doyoung lifts a thumb up and goes back to his bagel. 

“Did my son mention anything about the fundraiser, Taeyong?” she asks. “Your mother expressed interest in getting you involved.”

Ugh. The fundraiser. “Uh… Yeah, he did. I haven’t gotten back to him yet, but… I guess I could give him a hand.”

“Excellent!” She chirps. “You could go fetch the ribbons with him today.”

“Absolutely,” Taeyong smiles tightly.

“But don’t forget to let your mother know where you are, okay?” She wiggles her fingers. “Have a great day honey.Ta-ta for now.” And marches away.

Taeyong finally sits down, eyeing all the food in the table. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Were you serious about that?” Doyoung asks.

“About what?”

“Coming with me on the ribbons thing.”

Taeyong sighs, reaching for the bagels. “I guess.”

Shrugging, Doyoung says, “Aiight. You walked into this one yourself, don’t rub it later.”

 

They get The Ribbons Thing sorted within five minutes. From what Taeyong’s gathered, these ribbons are being tied around the backrest of the chairs in the fundraiser venue. Gladly, they were in and out of the store in literally five minutes. The order had been paid for, Doyoung only had to show a receipt and they were being handed two boxes.

Perhaps if it had taken longer, Taeyong’s mind wouldn’t have wandered back to Johnny and the events of the previous night. There’s something Taeyong ought to do, and he better do it quickly before courage wanes out.

When they’re back at Doyoung’s place, Taeyong asks to use their landline. He doesn’t know Johnny’s number by heart, so Doyoung does him the favor of asking Sicheng.

Johnny is not expecting to hear Taeyong’s voice.

“Taeyong?” He asks. “Hey, what’s the dillio?”

“C-could you perhaps meet me?” Taeyong stutters, and winces. _Loser_.

Johnny doesn’t respond promptly. He hums, seemingly going over his possibilities, then says, “Yeah. Okay. Now?”

“If it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s not. Um. Can you meet at Sicheng’s café? I think he’s working today.”

Taeyong knows for a fact that Sicheng is working today. Doyoung mentioned it in passing earlier. “Yes, I can. Twenty minutes?”

“Word. See you soon, Taeyong.”

 

Once he heard Taeyong was meeting up Johnny at the café Sicheng works, Doyoung was more than glad to accompany him. Naturally, he sticks by the counter giggling at whatever Sicheng says. Then again, Taeyong’s own reaction to Johnny coming in isn’t that much different. 

The door chimes and Taeyong’s heart skips a beat, sappy and cringeworthy. 

Johnny’s wearing another of his large flannel shirts, except this time he’s also wearing a bandana, which makes everything so much harder for Taeyong. He thought Johnny _liked_ him, what the--

“Hi,” he greets with a smile, waving at Sicheng before sitting down. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all.” Smiling back at him, Taeyong, says, “Thanks for meeting me.”

Johnny looks a bit stiffer than usual; his eyes waver with something akin to dread. He scratches the tip of his nose like he’s waiting on Taeyong. 

When silence has gone on too long, he chuckles, “What’s going on with this atmosphere? This doesn’t feel like our usual setting, what’s up?”

Taeyong might as well spit it all out. 

“I need to apologize to you. Properly.”

The words make Johnny’s face scrunch up. He shakes his head in denial, probably ready to assure Taeyong no apology is necessary.

“No, wait,” Taeyong hurries, leaning forward. “I have to do this, you know I owe you an apology.”

“You d--”

“Yes, I do, Johnny.” Taeyong stares at him. Maybe his voice came out serious and stuff, because Johnny halts his protests and just looks at him. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was shitty.”

Lowering his gaze to the table, Johnny inhales, opting to stay silent. Taeyong sees it as a sign of compliance (and also an invitation to keep talking).

“My mom knows about you,” Taeyong says. It has Johnny looking up at him again, eyes wide and confused. “Well, she doesn’t know it’s _you_ you, but she knows there’s someone. She knows you were there yesterday. We had… We had an argument about it.”

“About me?” Johnny asks, index finger turned to his chest.

“About me, I guess. Nothing I didn’t expect.” Taeyong rubs both palms over his face, feeling suddenly tired. He managed to sleep quite well at Doyoung’s, but somehow, exhaustion clings to his limbs. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I won’t do that again. The next time I bring you over, I’ll make sure we don’t hide away in the room all day.”

Johnny’s face changes. The corners of his lips lift slightly, his eyebrows arch a bit. “Next time?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

“But. What about your parents? Your mom. Didn’t you say you had an argument?”

Last night, Taeyong came to a realization. He couldn’t get the good boy element _and_ the Johnny element in the same package, not according to his parents’ laws. After giving up so much in favor of doing what was right -- what his parents’ thought was right --, Taeyong felt like he was owed this. They owe him this sappy, corny, cheesy summer romance. 

There’s so much he hasn’t explored yet. So many places he hasn’t seen, so many things he hasn’t done. He still wants to do all that. Taeyong wants Johnny as well, and he thinks Johnny might want him too.

He shrugs. “I don’t care. I’m not giving it up.”

It was probably the right thing to say. It’s obvious that Johnny is trying to bite back his smile, but it eventually overrides him. 

“I’m glad, Taeyong. Because I _really_ like you, and I’d be quite bummed if you’d called me here to break up.”

Taeyong gasps, “What? I don’t want to break up with you!”

“Great, neither do I!”

“Awesome!”

Johnny bites on his lower lip, eyes sparkling. “There is one thing I wanna do, though.”

“What is it?”

“Kiss you,” he says. “Can I?”

Taeyong knows he’s blushing, he can feel the tickle on his cheeks, the shiver on the back of his neck. 

“Yes,” he says, watching as Johnny jumps chairs, sits closer to Taeyong -- close enough to drape his arm onto the backrest of Taeyong’s chair, hand grazing on Taeyong’s shoulder.

Johnny brings Taeyong in by his chin, letting their noses touch before he presses his lips onto Taeyong’s. It’s tentative; careful. Johnny’s hand spreads open under Taeyong’s jaw, angling his face, gently coaxing his mouth open. It’s soothing, turns Taeyong kind of putty in his hands, and he’s okay with that. He’s totally okay with that.

They kiss for a while. Then the door chimes and Johnny breaks them apart with one last peck to Taeyong’s lips.

Johnny runs a thumb over the length of Taeyong’s eyebrows. “That was nice,” he says.

Humming, Taeyong leans closer. “Will it ruin the mood if I start talking about my mother?”

“Not at all, baby,” Johnny says, giving Taeyong’s shoulder a squeeze.

Taeyong, doing his utmost to ignore the endearment (and what it does to his heart), tells Johnny about last night. He talks about his mom and the implications of their conversation. Taeyong tells him about Ten and Doyoung, and spending the night out. He talks about decisions made subconsciously and the guilt they brought him. Taeyong tells him everything, and throughout it all, Johnny’s hand never leaves his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Taeyong,” Johnny says afterward. “Every parent has their own conceptions of what’s best for their children.”

Taeyong snorts, “They should only want their kids to be happy, nothing else. I could be happy dancing, couldn’t I?” Leaning his forehead on Johnny’s cheek, Taeyong says, “I could be happy with you. There might be so many other things out there capable of bringing me happiness. Shouldn’t I be exploring them all?”

Johnny nods, sighing. “Sometimes I forget my parents are actually the exception. They’re okay with anything I choose to do unless it’s illegal.”

That sounds like a wonderland, honestly. Taeyong is about to reproduce those thoughts when someone approaches them in a very loud fashion.

“Hey, Seo!” The guy opens his arms wide. “Who’s your daddy?” 

Taeyong remembers him. It’s the college dude, Taeil, the one with the plant Taeyong is not supposed to talk about.

“Yo man,” Johnny stands up in order to give Taeil a low five. “Where did you come from?”

“The back,” Taeil jerks a thumb towards the counter. “Sicheng lets me nap here whenever he’s working.”

“What?”

“Don’t mind that,” Taeil pulls out a small plastic bag from his pants pocket. “I got your dubs.”

The exchange is pretty quick. Within a split second, Taeil hands Johnny the small package and Johnny tucks it into his own pocket.

“Sweet, thanks man.” Johnny glances at Taeyong. “You remember Taeyong?”

Taeil’s eyes finally fall on Taeyong. The once-over he gives Taeyong is entirely non-threatening. “Oh yeah. Your guy, from that day at the auto shop.”

Taeyong smiles and just nods. The fact that Taeil referred to him as ‘Johnny’s guy’ has Taeyong’s stomach somersaulting in a really nice way. That’s something he can easily get used to.

Taeil doesn’t stick around for long. He dips ten minutes after begging Sicheng to give him free coffee, sauntering out of the café as if his day has just gotten much better. He has bright energy, the kind that emanates to other people. It just so happens to be like that with many of Johnny’s friends, Taeyong realizes. 

They operate in a frequency that broadcasts happiness all around. Taeyong wasn’t exactly _looking_ for it, and he sort of wrote them off as hoodlums at first but eventually, Taeyong came to the conclusion that’s precisely the kind of energy he needs. 

 

\--

 

Taeyong spends two days at Doyoung’s house. They stop by Kun’s to check on Ten on the last day, and he’s found roaming around the kitchen alongside Ziyi, supposedly helping her cook lunch. He looks very at ease, although the mention of his parents has the smile in his face diminishing a bit.

Doyoung drives them to Jaehyun’s house later that day, and they all hang out at his basement-room, watching only thirty minutes of ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ because Jaehyun recorded some music videos over it by mistake. 

It’s a type of fun Taeyong didn’t use to have. Gathering with friends, messing around at home without a team of distressed maids telling them to stop putting their dirty feet on the couch. The time Taeyong spent with Ten and Doyoung growing up was also great. This is different, though, and he likes it.

Haeun is on him the second Taeyong steps foot in his house. She inspects him, head to toe, looking for bruises. It takes him five minutes to convince her that he’s fine. Then, she spends ten minutes lecturing him about disappearing like that. Taeyong would argue that he told Mark where he was, but he cedes and lowers his head, listening to her scolding in full.

He’s about to hop in the shower when his mother knocks on his open door.

She doesn’t look as taciturn as usual when she sits down on Taeyong’s bed, patting the mattress so he’ll take a seat next to her. Taeyong notices that she’s not wearing one of her usual country club outfits, dressed down.

As if she spent the day home.

“How have you been?” is the first thing she asks. 

“Good,” Taeyong says, fiddling with the towel on his lap. 

His mother nods, blinking at him. “Mark said you were with Doyoung and Ten.”

“Yes.”

“Heejung informed me that you spent the last two days at their house.”

“I did.”

They sit in silence; it’s awkward. Taeyong wants nothing more than locking himself in the bathroom and avoid this. He knows what’s coming, she’s going to reprimand him for spending time away and blame it all on “the skatepark boys”.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking since the last time we talked,” she begins. “I know it might be hard for you to understand where my concern comes from, and I did a terrible job trying to explain.”

She did a terrible job at a bunch of other stuff too. 

“As parents, we…” she pauses, looking down at the joined hands on her lap before glancing back up at Taeyong. “We envision this whole future for our children. It’s part of the process, I think, dreaming about how you’re going to be, what kind of choices you’ll make. We always, _always_ dream about you having a wonderful life.

“It’s possible that, at times, we get carried away and let our own hopes and aspirations run over yours.”

Taeyong blinks at his mother, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She takes Taeyong’s hand in hers.

“You and Mark are my whole life,” she continues. It’s weird to watch her eyes soften like this, Taeyong can’t remember the last time he’s seen it happen. “Your happiness is the only thing that matters.

She’s clearly attempting something here, but it’s all so vague Taeyong is having difficulties grasping the true meaning behind her words. “What are you trying to say?”

“That it’s ultimately your choice. What you do, who you spend your time with. I can advise you, I can tell you my opinion. But I cannot prevent you from doing something that brings you joy.”

Ah. She’s talking about how they’ve asked Taeyong to stop dancing in order to focus on things that would help him get into business school -- something that he was never too excited about to begin with.

He still asks, for good measure, “Is this about dance lessons?”

She smiles, “Also about dance lessons. Mostly about how the way I acted led you into keeping important things from me.”

She _must_ be talking about Johnny. Taeyong looks down at his hands, not sure if he wants to have this conversation with his mother. They’ve never been close enough to discuss his romantic developments. The thing with Jennie Crystal was, now he understands, pretty generic.

“I’m sorry, Taeyong,” she continues. “You’ve always been a good son, and I think I was unfair the other night.”

 

Taeyong was _not_ expecting this. It’s legitimately a plot twist. She’s admitting to having acted harshly while simultaneously praising Taeyong. 

Parents are always looking for the best for their children, right?

Taeyong is about to thank her for trusting him when his stomach flutters delightfully, and he perks up as an idea sprouts in his head.

“Are you telling me I can take up dance lessons again?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes,” she responds.

Okay. On to the next one. “Do I still have to go to business school?”

She laughs, curt, and poised, “You have to go to school.”

That’s vague. She’s not saying Taeyong needs to go to business school. Okay. Taeyong can go to school. He can work with that. Business school was always a thing his father insisted on, though, so Taeyong might need to get back to that later. For now, he can take this one chance at hypothetical free-will.

“I’ll also ask you to bring your new friend over,” his mother says. “So I can get to know him.”

W-what.

“You want to meet Johnny?”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, and she says, “We have a name! Yes, I want to meet Johnny.”

That’s… Concerning. Does she want to meet him just so she’ll later be empowered to sit Taeyong down and list all the reasons he should not be hanging out with Johnny? Or does she genuinely want to give him a chance?

“Why?” Taeyong asks.

She shrugs, “Because you’ve been spending a lot of time together. Also because you like him.”

Taeyong would ask how she came to that conclusion, but then he recalls the tears he shed the other day at the dinner table and feels his cheeks getting warmer.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Good. Let me know when he’s coming. I’ll ask Haeun to cook something nice.” She stands up, adjusting her clothes. “Taeyong?” He looks up in question. “Let’s try to trust each other a bit more from now on.”

That’s a good prospect. They haven’t been close the last couple of years, but Taeyong remembers how much fun they used to have when he was younger. Something changed along the way -- Mark came, Taeyong grew up --, their relationship changed. It was awful, but eventually, Taeyong stopped expecting her to come to every school event. The idea that she might want to resume their old dynamics excites him.

There are things Taeyong wouldn’t be able to talk to her about, like taking the Brad Pitt poster down because it would keep reminding him of an embarrassing episode involving his underwear. Still, it would be good if his friendship with Johnny and the others didn’t have to be a covert affair. 

Knowing his mom, it’s weird for Taeyong to believe she wouldn’t have a problem with them, especially because The Great Mouse Takeover was an actual thing, and it brought her great horror. At least she appears to want to try, and that counts for a lot.

 

\--

 

Jaehyun has already fallen off his skateboard at least thirty times when Taeyong mentions taking Johnny home for dinner. The screech Johnny lets out actually spooks Jaehyun, who falls for the thirty-first time. 

At least it’s not a hot day.

Johnny is not sure about the idea at first, but Taeyong pouts and pleads. 

So now Taeyong is hanging out with Haeun at the kitchen, watching her take the roast out of the oven when the doorbell rings. Taeyong jogs to the door, opening it to reveal a very put-together Johnny. Taeyong gives him one, two once-overs because he thinks his eyes might be fooling him. 

Johnny is wearing fitted clothes, a nice white shirt, and brown pants. His hair -- his _hair_ \-- looks clean, none of that usual grease, and he smells so good. 

Taeyong knows he’s slack-jawed. Johnny chuckles, running a hand through his silken hair. What.

“Hey, Taeyong,” he says. “Am I early?”

Taeyong curses, which causes Johnny to laugh again. He needs a moment to recompose.

“You look--”

Johnny smirks, “I know. Mom let me use her shampoo. Can I come in?”

Shit, Taeyong’s been standing like an idiot, staring at Johnny as if he’s a vision or something. Where are his manners? 

He steps aside, and Johnny comes in.

They head to the sitting room where he knows his mom and Mark are. Taeyong feels a bit nervous, the palms of his hands sweating quite a bit as he leads Johnny further into his house. This is it. If his mom decides she hates Johnny, Taeyong is pretty much fucked. He’ll have to make that awful choice again, which sucks because he’s already gotten used to the thought of having both things.

In the sitting room, Mark has his Gameboy in hands, hair perfectly combed and shirt perfectly ironed. What a loser.

Taeyong’s mother is browsing through a magazine uninterestedly, and the sound of Taeyong’s and Johnny’s footsteps diverts her attention from the reading.

Taeyong clears his throat, “Mom, Mark,” he says awkwardly. “This is Johnny. Johnny, these are my mom and my brother Mark.”

Johnny bows politely, a brilliant, charming smile on his face. “Hello Mrs. Lee,” he says. “Mark. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Mark merely waves, quickly going back to his Gameboy. Taeyong’s mother keeps her eyes on Johnny, seemingly pleasant but acutely assessing. 

“Hello, Johnny,” she says in a friendly tone. “Please, have a sit.”

His smile intact, Johnny, takes up the offered seat, thanking Taeyong’s mother graciously. 

“How was the traffic coming here? Taeyong says you don’t live in the neighborhood.”

Here we go with the interrogation. Taeyong’s sits next to Johnny on the couch, discreetly wiping his forehead with his wrist. It’s starting to get sweaty.

“Yes, I live in Pine Valley?” Johnny says. “The roads were pretty clear, I didn’t have problems.”

“Oh!” Taeyong’s mother exclaims. She knows Pine Valley is one of the expensive areas in the city, that might be a point in Johnny’s favor. “That’s near the mountains, right? A very peaceful place, I hear.”

“Yes ma’am,” Johnny says. “The soil is also very fertile. My parents keep a garden, and the berries taste amazing.”

Now Taeyong’s mother looks invested. She crosses her legs, propping an elbow on a knee. “And what do they do? Your parents.”

Johnny doesn’t look the least bothered by the question, easily answering, “They’re musicians. My mom writes music for TV commercials and my dad is a ghostwriter.”

There’s a sparkle in Taeyong’s mother’s eyes as if she’s extremely surprised, but also very pleased.

Looking around the room, Johnny mentions, “Your house is pretty great, Mrs. Lee.” Then, glances pointedly at the floor. “This rug is gorgeous. It reminds me of this antique tapestry art I saw in Rome two years ago.”

It’s like Johnny scores a majestic goal. Taeyong watches his mother’s face color with excitement as she leans a bit forward. Even Mark looks up from his game.

“Are you interested in home decor?” She asks.

“Not home decor per se,” Johnny explains, using a tone that Taeyong can only describe as knowledgeable. “I’m into antique pieces, so I can tell this is vintage.”

When she gives Taeyong a _very satisfied_ look, he knows she’s a goner.

“Taeyong, you didn’t tell me your friend was a curator,” she mentions.

“Johnny’s considering studying fine arts,” Taeyong is quick to say. “He’s got a small collection of… Antique artifacts.”

Offering Johnny a heartfelt, genuine smile, Taeyong’s mother says, “Well, tell me all about it then!”

 

Dinner goes WONDERFULLY WELL. Johnny is able to engage Taeyong’s mother in every single subject she tosses into the conversation, even going as far as discussing Bomberman with Mark for a brief moment. He’s even as sensible as to not ask about Taeyong’s father, who’s never home. Not even on his days off.

After the table is cleared, Taeyong’s mom gives Johnny a shoulder squeeze (a shoulder squeeze!!!), telling him he’s always welcome in their house (always welcome!!!). She retreats to her room, leaving Johnny and Taeyong alone in the sitting room.

Taeyong checks if the coast is clear before giving Johnny a playful slap.

“You sly piece of shit! You charmed her to the moon and back!”

Cackling in moderate volume, Johnny sits back on the couch. “Damn skippy. I did good, right?”

Taeyong flops down next to Johnny, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a peck on the lips. “You were brilliant! I was freaking out and you were like _’Is this vintage?’_ Damn! I didn’t even know you went to Rome.”

Johnny nods, using an arm around Taeyong’s waist to bring him closer. “Two years ago, my dad wrote something for a French singer. We did France and Italy back then.”

Taeyong blinks at him, flooded by this strange sense of awe. “That’s amazing.”

There’s still so much he doesn’t know about Johnny. It terrifies and thrills him at the same time. 

“Thank you for coming,” Taeyong says. “It was really important to me.”

Bringing Taeyong’s hand to his lips, Johnny plants a kiss to his palm. “Thank you for having me.”

They make out for a few minutes. Then Haeun comes in and screams about it being too late. It’s only nine, but Taeyong wouldn’t want to cross her. She can be scarier than Taeyong’s mother, and Johnny hasn’t won _her_ over yet. Summer is almost over, but Taeyong thinks they can make it if they try hard enough.

 

 

\--

 

Huge crowd for a skateboarding event. They got several ramps and even a park built for the competition at the beach. There are three styles, Taeyong has learned. Jaehyun is competing in two: vert, and street style. Although his strength is in the ramps, he can ride street like a champ.

“Chill, man, it’s gonna be the bomb!” Yuta says as he massages Jaehyun’s shoulders.

Jaehyun, who’s visibly tense, breathes in and out with his eyes closed, rolling his shoulders. It’ll be his turn on the halfpipe pretty soon; Taeyong finds it dangerous for Jaehyun to ride when his hands are shaking this bad -- it would be pretty much Jaehyun plummeting to his death instead of rising to stardom.

According to Johnny, scouts for potential sponsors are here today, and several have gotten a word with Jaehyun, which explains his nerves. Honestly, Taeyong doesn’t understand why he hasn’t smoked one of those weed cigarettes. They’re supposed to get people relaxed, right? For guys who smoke so much, they sure suck at making use of that plant when it’s actually needed.

“Hot dog?” Doyoung offers, standing next to Taeyong. Sicheng comes right after holding two cups. 

“Nah, thanks.” Taeyong turns back to Jaehyun, who’s now bent over, hands on his knees. “Is he gonna be okay? He looks ready to hurl.”

“He was like that last year during the qualifying stages of a state-wide,” Sicheng mentions, sipping at one of the cups in his hands. “Jae got his best score that day. Kinda bunk but he functions better when he’s freaking out.”

Sicheng is right about one thing; it does seem kinda bunk. Jaehyun is now gulping down the contents of a huge water bottle, throwing the empty thing on the sand once he’s done. His eyes seem crazed, out of orbit, and he doesn’t appear to be paying attention to his surroundings.

Which is ironic because Yuta is there saying, “Forget about Miller, did you hear me? Miller ain’t fresh, Miller’s a little bitch.”

“Who’s Miller?” Taeyong asks.

“Jae’s competitor,” Sicheng says. “Guy destroys street style. Does well in vert as well. He almost died last year doing megaramp. Same competition Jae won.”

Johnny, who’s back from picking up Ten and Kun, says, “Hey, how is he doing?” He hooks an arm around Taeyong’s neck, pulls him in to press a kiss to his temple. Taeyong hugs him back, arms around Johnny’s middle.

“Freaking out,” Sicheng says.

“Fuck yeah!” Kun celebrates, high-fiving Johnny. “It’s in the bag, mofos!”

Taeyong frowns, “Does he really do well on a frenzy?”

Johnny snorts, “Are you kidding me? Jaehyun threw up last year during the state qualifiers while being chased by a dog. No one in the Valley has ever gotten a score as high.”

First, why did he get chased by a dog? Second, are they serious? That doesn’t strike him as a healthy habit. Jaehyun might develop some fucked up issues if it goes on. Taeyong will think of a way to bring up the subject after the competition without sounding nosey. 

“Heyo,” Ten greets, elbowing Taeyong’s arm. “What’s doin’?”

“Hey,” Taeyong replies. 

After a few days staying with Kun, Ten went back home. Things are not a hundred percent, but his mom has started speaking to him again. They’ve tried to change his mind about the dance academy at least three times, and every time it ends with Ten packing his bags and his father threatening to disown him. Doyoung has offered to act as some sort of Sugar Daddy for him if he goes poor, but Ten’s pride is stronger than his determination.

“All good?” Ten asks.

 

In Taeyong’s own house, the subject of dance lessons has risen up several times at the breakfast table. Taeyong’s father was quick to protest, but his mom subtly suggested that Taeyong might be taking up lessons in university, surprising the entire audience (which consisted of Mark and Taeyong). She never said it was okay for Taeyong not to go for business when the time to choose his major comes, but she also didn’t say he couldn’t major in dance.

Taeyong nods. “Yeah.”

Besides that, Taeyong’s mother insisted that Johnny attended the fundraising tomorrow. They’ve been exchanging information about hot spots for antique shopping, and Johnny has even gifted her with a small tin that’s said to have belonged to a Spanish princess. Or something like that.

Things are progressing at an unimaginable speed. Taeyong is shocked and also a bit scared, which gets mixed with his excitement and turns into a big blob of feelings. Gladly, it’s all still manageable.

“Jae, they’re calling you back there!” Sicheng yells, and suddenly everyone is moving.

Yuta is screaming about fucking Miller in his mother’s bed later tonight, then Kun and Johnny are hitting Jaehyun with these small punches while Doyoung and Ten cheer as they walk by. 

For a brief moment, Jaehyun’s eyes lock with Taeyong’s.

“Good luck,” Taeyong mouths. 

Jaehyun smiles, hitting his own chest a couple times before picking up his skateboard from the sand and rushing out to begin his rise into stardom.

Once he’s gone, they all run to find a good spot by the safety grids. Johnny takes Taeyong’s hand, dragging him along.

“He’s riding third!” Sicheng says, pointing to the top of the ramp. Standing there in a line are three guys. Jaehyun is the last one.

Noticing that Jaehyun has now started to bite his own nails, Taeyong says, “He’s so nervous.”

“Chill, he’s gonna be fine,” Johnny says. “The first one is Miller. Watch him.”

And watch Taeyong does. Miller doesn’t get a single move wrong. Not that Taeyong knows every single skateboarding rules, but he recognizes a good performance when he sees it. And Miller does pretty well. In fact, judging by the way the crowd cheers and how loud the microphone guy yells, Taeyong would dare say Miller was phenomenal. 

“Fucker,” Yuta hisses.

“It’s okay, Jae’s got this,” Kun says, bouncing on his feet.

The second guy gets through the ramp without major problems, but Miller was obviously superior.

When it’s Jaehyun’s turn, Taeyong’s stomach does a flip, and his heart threatens to jump out of his mouth. Swallowing, Taeyong grips at the edge of the grid, eyes never leaving the tiny figure of Jaehyun on top of the halfpipe.

And then he rides. No. Ride wouldn’t be accurate. Jaehyun _flies_. The moment his skateboard goes up, he’s doing this twirly thing, and everyone goes mad. Even Taeyong, who two months ago had no idea what a kickflip was, is incoherently screaming. Jaehyun doesn’t stop there. He flies really high and does another flip, and then he twirls again.

And then his whole body turns mid air, and he changes the position of his board. 

The crowd goes wild. Microphone guy goes wild. Yuta is suddenly being lifted on Kun’s back, and Jaehyun is back on the top of the ramp, vibrating like he’s just kicked ass at a skateboard competition. Taeyong is baffled.

“Was that a fucking body varial?” He asks no one in particular. Taeyong has no fucking clue how he knows that move is called a body varial.

“540, dude.” Someone next to him replies.

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“Have we seen him before?”

“Dude, he just beat Miller.”

When Taeyong turns around, there are actual tears on Sicheng’s eyes. Yuta is running out to meet Jaehyun on the bottom of the ramp, and the others follow him. Taeyong runs too because he’s too hyped and doesn’t want to stay out here by himself.

The first thing Jaehyun does once his feet have touched the sand is hurl. They ask where he learned to perform a body varial 540, to which Jaehyun merely answers ‘pool riding’.

He obviously wins the tournament, and his big ass trophy takes up most of the table at the burger joint.

“Does this mean you’re going to nationals?” Taeyong asks.

Jaehyun chuckles, as if Taeyong’s question is somehow funny. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Cool. You gotta try and chill before riding, though, that can be dangerous. You’re already anxious, and then you’re adding adrenaline to the mix…”

Sighing, Jaehyun says, “Yeah, I know. Gotta work on that. Thanks for worrying, though. Guess I can say you don’t hate me anymore.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, not dignifying Jaehyun’s remark with an answer.

Meanwhile, Johnny attempts to snag a piece of Taeyong’s waffle.

“Hey!” Taeyong exclaims, yanking the fork from Johnny’s hands. “You finished yours, now you’re coming for mine? Stay on your lane, homeslice.”

Pouting, Johnny leans his head on Taeyong’s shoulder. “But I’m still hungry.”

“No one told you to be large. Now deal with the consequences.”

“Are you calling me fat, Taeyong?”

“No. It wouldn’t matter if you were fat. It matters that you can never fill your stomach!” Resigned, Taeyong starts cutting up pieces of his waffle. “No matter how much you eat, you’re still hungry!”

He holds up a bite in his fork. Johnny brightens up, snatching it right up. Taeyong huffs, but the corners of his mouth betray him by tugging up. 

Taeyong is pretty self-conscious at this point, he knows he’s head-over-heels. Yet, he’s constantly reminded when they’re napping by the grass at the skatepark and Johnny sneezes. And when Johnny lets Mark’s friends beat him on Mortal Kombat. Or when Johnny finds something particularly interesting at an antique shop. 

At the age of eighteen, Taeyong is ridiculous and pathetically in love. They’re not going to be together twenty-four-seven in the Fall when school starts, which makes it all very uncertain and a bit terrifying. Taeyong doesn’t know where this is going; if there’s even hope for them. There’s a bunch he still doesn’t know. It might be just a fling, they might not even remember each other’s names in a few months, but he decided to not let uncertainty ruin the awesomeness of Summer 1997. For now, Taeyong is going to dive deep, bathe in this newfound warmth, and let the future take its course.

“Happy?” Taeyong asks.

Johnny grins, “Happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if you were expecting this to blow up at some point and have Taeyong cut ties with his family or smth like that. It just didn't make sense to me. Tayeong will figure things out along the way, including how to properly navigate the relationship with his parents and understand how he actually feels about everything. Thus the sort-of-open-ending.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated <3
> 
> @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/maplemooncake)


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